Bets & Bribes
by rajikka
Summary: Italy has made a huge mistake – he bet his own brother in a poker game…and lost. Romano now has to spend the next 24 hours with America dragging him around town and somehow NOT kill the guy. (Romerica)
1. King of Spades

_Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it _

_Warning: strong language, boy x boy pairings_

This one was inspired by my recent (awful) attempts at learning poker and my huge desire to write another short story with our boys as Nations again. Please excuse any poker-related errors in this chapter. This is the only chapter that will have lots of poker details.

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>Italia Veneziano was not an intimidating man. He tried to avoid fights whenever he could and squeaked in the face of danger. Military power was not one of his strong points…but hot damn, could he play cards! For some inexplicable reason, Kings, Queens, and Aces always flocked to his hands. He had never lost a game of poker in his entire life. There were some who said he had the devil's luck, but were mostly laughed at when they tried to warn others. There was nothing about the little man who seemed more concerned with food than world affairs that struck others as conniving or suspicious.<p>

And then they played cards with him.

It was amazing how quickly one's perspective on the seemingly innocent and naïve Italian could change over the span of a poker game. Sometimes all it took was a single round. The number of Nations who knew this from experience was only a handful, but that didn't stop them from trying to beat him anyway.

Naturally, they all failed.

When it came to sorting out the economy or threatening others to avoid conflict, Veneziano was quick to hide behind his older brother or Germany; but the second he picked up a hand of cards, he became a different person. His techniques were incredibly advanced, ruthless, and unheard of. He was like the Roman Empire of card players. North Italy had more skill with a card deck than his grandfather did with a sword. Just when his competition thought they had him beat, he'd pull an insane stunt that won him the entire game in a matter of minutes. The story the Bad Touch Trio liked to tell the most was when they had him on the ropes (in their minds) and Italy pulled another crazy tactic – he bet his own brother instead of money.

As the slip with Romano's name on it left Veneziano's fingertips and floated onto the growing pile of money in the pot, three sets of eyes stared at it in disbelief.

"…I don't think you can do that, Veneziano," Spain finally spoke up.

"I don't think you _want_ to do that!" added Prussia. "South's gonna throw a fit if you lose!"

"Such a daring move…" France stroked the stubble on his chin. "Are you sure about that?"

"Quite sure," the half-nation smiled. "Unless you guys don't want to try to win my brother for a day…"

That was all they needed to hear.

"You couldn't have him when he was a kid, you can't have him now, Franny," The Spaniard reminded his blonde friend.

"Don't be so sure, mon ami," Francis drew a card, examining it thoughtfully. "I already have the perfect maid's outfit for him to wear when he waits on me hand and foot."

"No way, the Awesome Me is going to win this! Kesesese!" laughed Prussia, discarding two cards. "I'm gonna make South wear a frilly apron and cook for me the entire day!"

"That was my plan too!" Spain smiled. "And he will only be allowed to speak Spanish!"

"Oooh! That's good! Yeah, when I win, he'll have to speak German!"

"How inexplicably evil…you might actually be the devil, Prussia." Francis smirked.

"Kesesese!"

"Does Roma even know any German…?" pondered Spain.

"So I take it you're in?" North Italy gave them an evil smile from behind his cards.

"All in!" they chorused.

Three sets of hands shoved their remaining money towards the pot and eagerly looked over their cards again. Unfortunately for them, it took the Italian less time to eat a plate of pasta than it did to beat all three Nations. The Bad Touch Trio was outraged, but that didn't stop them from playing against Italy over and over again, in the off-chance that they'd actually win one day. Since his betting Romano tactic worked so well the first time, Veneziano had since done that on occasion. It always pushed his opponents to going all-in and never ended in anything but victory for the Italian.

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>A few years later, Veneziano found himself playing a familiar poker game with the highly-motivated Bad Touch Trio and a reluctant Germany. The group of five had gathered around a table in the brightly-lit lobby, making the most of their break during a World Conference meeting. Everything was going Veneziano's way until America happened to stroll by.<p>

"Playing poker again? Good luck!" the blonde patted France on the shoulder. He had more than enough luck to spare today. "Heh, and don't let Iggy catch you!"

"If you tell your mother on me, I'm grounding you for the rest of the century!" the Frenchman replied humorously.

"The thought never even crossed my mind," America laughed on his way over to a nearby couch.

He dug out his phone and checked his email after taking over the entire piece of furniture. He'd been so bored lately, he needed something fun and exciting to waltz into his life. Paintball and mountain climbing were only temporary fixes for the adrenaline junkie. America wanted something or someone a little more..._constant_ in his extended life. Sure, he had Mattie and his enchanted pet cat (thank you, England), but there were times when both were off somewhere doing whatever it is busy Nations and cats do. That left America stuck finding some way to distract himself from his imminent boredom. He really needed someone he could rely on to always be there for him, no matter how crazy things got. The blonde mashed a few buttons on his phone. If only he had a number for something like that...

Back at the poker table, North Italy was cleaning house. France looked at his diminishing money pile and the large one growing in front of the amber-eyed card shark. If he didn't do something fast, he'd be out of the game and Veneziano would win…again. Right around then, France remembered something his other son-of-sorts had told him about America's card skills…

"_He plays risky, but he plays well, eh…"_

France mulled it over in his head while Germany dealt for the next round. He'd been playing with Italy for several decades now…more than enough time for the poker genius to learn the Frenchman's personal play style. Maybe, if he could throw the half-nation for a loop, he had a chance of winning this…or at least not being the first one knocked out of the game. France looked over his shoulder to spot the superpower. America was just messing around on his phone, nothing important.

"Amérique!" he called him over. "Come here for a moment, s'il vous plaît!"

The short-haired blonde shrugged, but made his way back over to the poker table.

"What's up, dude?"

France began speaking very rapidly in French, initially causing the other blonde to scrunch his face up until his brain was able to make the switch over to the lightning-fast words tumbling out of his former-caretaker's mouth. The others at the table didn't even bother trying to translate. Both German brothers were never particularly adept at French, especially when it was spoken that quickly. Spain was able to catch a word here and there, but had a feeling France was using some kind of code. Unless 'whorehouse' and 'drunken moose' was some new poker slang he'd never heard before. North Italy was too confident to care.

Once America realized what the other Nation was trying to tell him, he looked over France's shoulder at his cards. In equally rapid French, he suggested a few tips to his former caretaker, which helped the Frenchman win the current hand. Both blondes cheered while the older of the two collected his winnings.

"Hey, no fair having outside help!" objected Prussia. "If America's gonna play, we have to deal him in!"

"Would you like to play, America?" North Italy's eyes twinkled at the prospect of a new victim, er, _player_.

"Sure!" the superpower pulled up a chair. "You would not believe the day I've been having – my lucky star must be out or something."

"That's good," France dealt the cards out. "Little Veneziano's quite the card shark."

"Ve, I'm not that scary, am I?" the Italian laid on the charm.

"Don't let the Bambi eyes fool you!" the albino exclaimed. "Ita's a _hustler!_"

North Italy merely flashed his innocent amber eyes at the other players and checked his cards. His hand wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either. Veneziano noticed that both German brothers took a shallow breath – their shared tell for a crappy hand. Spain was looking focused instead of spacey, which meant he was on the fence about his current hand. France appeared a lot less confident without America's help, so it was an easy win there too. The final superpower looked at his cards and maintained the same grin he had when he began. Either he had no concept of a poker face or he was overly confident. Maybe both.

Veneziano decided to crush that confidence by refusing to draw, as if he already had a winning hand and not a simple flush. Almost immediately, Prussia, Germany, and France folded. Spain reluctantly called and America went ahead and raised. North Italy arched an eyebrow, but saw his raise, while Spain folded. A brief betting war erupted until the brunette finally set down his cards, revealing a flush.

"Alright! Four of a kind!" America cheered, tossing down his cards, and collecting his winnings.

The Italian could feel his right eye begin to twitch. He wasn't used to losing and actually got annoyed after the newcomer won three more times in a row. Veneziano had narrowly scraped by a victory by having a higher suit one round, hoping to end America's winning streak. It failed to demoralize the blonde, who went back into Godmode the very next game. One by one, the Bad Touch Trio and Germany were knocked out of the game. After taking Germany out, America started humming his national anthem and France had the nerve to join in. This was ridiculous! He had to put an end to this now. Checking his cards, Italy confirmed they were good enough for his next gamble.

"Ve~! This is really fun!" the brunette almost sounded sincere. "Maybe we should up the stakes a little?"

Everyone else at the table looked at each other. They knew exactly what that meant. North Italy was about to use his special attack to scare the superpower into backing down.

"What do you mean?" America finally stopped humming _The Star-Spangled Banner_ long enough to listen.

North Italy took out a blank sheet of paper and wrote 'Romano' on it in fancy letters. He set it on top of the pile of cash in the middle of the table.

"I bet my brother," he flashed a toothy smile. "For 24 hours, Romano will hang out with you and do whatever you ask."

"Ha, ha, ha! That's funny! I'd be afraid to bet my own brother," America barely even glanced at his cards. "But having a big bro for the day might be kind of fun…Sure, I'm all in."

The others around the table were making such a racket, Germany had to step in to calm them down before they disrupted the other Nations slowly filtering in and out of the room. What followed next was the most nerve-wracking poker game any of them had ever witnessed. When all was said and done, North Italy showed his cards. He was very smug, and rightly so – he had a straight flush.

"That _is_ a good hand…" America whistled.

Veneziano smiled, sitting straighter in his chair. Finally, he had reclaimed his poker honor and won! He was unbeatable! Invincible! He was—

"But I have a good hand too," America laid down his cards.

Jaws dropped. America had the only combination of cards that could beat North Italy's – a royal flush – the unbeatable hand!

"Like I said, it must be my lucky day or something…"

Veneziano's face fell from the royal family of Spades and fear set in. Suddenly, he realized the consequences of his actions. He could no longer hear the hoots, hollers, and uproar going on around him. The Italian didn't even feel Germany's comforting hand on his shoulder. His brother was going to kill him! North Italy visibly paled as he watched America rake in the mountain of cash and the slip of paper with Romano's name on it.

"V-Ve…" he stammered, teary-eyed. "How am I going to explain this to fratello?!"

"No big deal, just tell him you lost a poker game."

"B-But!"

"Relax, it's not like I'm going to _eat_ him or anything!" America laughed.

Italy pouted, unsure about that. America was raised by England, after all.

"Ohonhonhon! And what do you plan to do with your little prize for the day?" Francis draped an arm around America, wagging his eyebrows.

"Yes…Do tell," Spain shot him a cold look.

America was oblivious to the underlying message of both.

"Well, I guess he could hang out after the next G-8 meeting, since I'm already hosting…we could catch a baseball game, maybe a movie if anything good is playing…" he scratched his head, then burst into a huge grin. "Oh! And then he'd _have_ to go to McDonald's with me!"

"You have a handsome Italian all to yourself for the day and your plan consists of baseball and fast food?" France sighed, shaking his head.

"Yes?"

"No, no, _no_…that won't do at all," the older blond complained. "Come with me and I'll give you some pointers before your big date!"

"Okay?" the superpower let himself be dragged away from the table.

A laughing Prussian and a seething Spaniard were quick to follow.

North Italy didn't know what to do, so he burst into tears and let Germany comfort him with soothing phrases like "I'm sure you're brother probably won't kill you…" and "He might be a _little_ mad, but not _18th century Kingdom of Sicily_ mad…" and "If you want, I'll lend you my tranquillizer gun."

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>The problem couldn't be avoided forever and eventually Veneziano had to return home. Instead of going to his house in Venice, he decided to pay his brother a visit in Rome. His timing was perfect. Just as North Italy walked up the driveway, his fratello was returning from an afternoon's worth of work in the garden. The tsundere eyed him in a mixture of surprise and suspicion. He set down the basket of tomatoes he had been holding and approached Veneziano.<p>

"What are you doing here, bastard?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my brother…?" he forced a smile.

Romano rolled his eyes.

"I meant that usually you call before you show up, idiota," he narrowed his green eyes. "And lately you spend _all_ your free time with the macho potato."

"V-Ve, all the more reason to spend time with you for awhile~!"

"Hmph, well, it _has_ been awhile, so I guess it's kind of nice to see you…but only a little."

Romano still wasn't sure what was bugging his brother, but was grateful for the sentiment. It was nice to know that he hadn't been _completely_ forgotten. He gave his brother a one-armed hug, which Veneziano quickly returned. It was rare for his fratello to show any kind of open affection like this, unless he was talking to a beautiful woman or a cute animal. Since Italy was neither of those things, it hit him for the first time how much Romano really trusted and cared about him. Veneziano knew trust didn't come easy to the tsundere, so for him to give that to another person meant they were important to him. It was one of the greatest compliments Romano could give.

…And now, North Italy had to go break it by telling his only brother about how he went and gambled him away for a day. He struggled not to start bawling into his fratello's shirt…This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>AN – Uh-oh…Feli's really gone and done it this time… XD I think I know a certain South Italian who is _not_ going to be happy next chapter…

A lot of the stories I already have up here are AU's or high school-related, which are fun, but somewhat limiting. Most of my posted fics using their Nation selves are one shot chapters in _Coffeehouse Drabbles_, so this was really fun to do. I have it roughly planned out to be about six chapters long.

-Rajikka

**Translations**

**Fratello** – Brother (It.)

**Amérique** – America (Fr.)

**S'il vous plaît** – Please (Fr.)

**Idiota** – Idiot (It.)

**Tsundere** – A type of character seen in anime or manga known for appearing cold or hostile, but having a hidden sweet side. "Tsun Tsun" is the aloof or irritable side, while "Dere Dere" is the lovey dovey side. (Jp.)


	2. Ace of Hearts

_Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it _

_Warning: strong language, boy x boy pairings_

Thanks for the support, folks! Here is how Romano reacts to being used as a human poker chip.

For purposes of the story, Spain is attending the G8 meeting as France's guest and Prussia as Germany's guest. It kind of works, since members of the European Union (which Spain _is_ a member of) have been invited to G8 meetings as guests before. Hurray, for creative liberties!

…And we're gonna pretend the whole temporary suspension of Russia from the G8 didn't happen in this universe. Sorry if that offends anyone, I just don't want to drag mountains of real-world politics into a story about personified nations spending half a chapter in a meeting and then going on a glorified date for the rest the fic.

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>North Italy wasn't sure how to tell his older brother about the bet he lost. Best case scenario, Romano would kill him quick and painlessly. Worst case scenario, Romano would take away all his pasta and let him die of starvation. Either way Veneziano was screwed. He eventually settled on begging Romano to come to the summit meeting with him, insisting it was important.<p>

"Why?" Romano looked up from the book he'd been reading. "Are you finally breaking things off with the potato bastard?"

"What? No!"

"Is Japan finally going to snap and beat Russia to death with a bamboo sword?"

"No!"

"Is Canada going to punch France or England in the face?"

"Uh…I don't think so?"

"Then I have no interest in going," the tsundere went back to reading. "You play Italy for the world. You're better at it, anyway."

"Th-That's not true!" Veneziano wrung his hands on his shirt. "Besides, I really need your help for this one…"

"Huh?"

Veneziano had his brother's attention, so he decided not to lose it. Even if he didn't have the guts to tell him about the bet quite yet, he really could use the extra help with his presentation. Usually, he presented alongside someone at these things to keep him on track and focused on all things not pasta. It was also better for his nerves. Romano was actually the one who gave solo reports on anything concerning their country. Veneziano was eternally grateful for his brother's ease of leading an Italian presentation (i.e. yelling at anyone who disagreed with him). For the most part, they stuck to that agreement – North Italy handled group projects and South Italy took care of the individual reports. It worked out for Veneziano, because he avoided stage fright and in Romano's favor, the presentations he had to give were few and far in between.

North Italy explained that he was working on a presentation about the global food supply with France originally, but the Nation of Love suddenly came down with a cold from one too many strikes held at the same time. Being the nice guy he was, Italy told him that he could take care of the rest while the blonde took care of himself.

"Please say that you'll help me, Roma!"

"The perverted bastard completely played you, idiot."

"Fratelloooo!"

"Fine, fine, I'll help you out, just this once," Romano sighed. "But you're cooking for the rest of the week."

"Okay~!"

Once the two actually got down to business and started putting the presentation together, things went smoothly. Both could be surprisingly efficient when they put their minds to it and with two of them working together, they were able to bring the other back on track when laziness, procrastination, or adult ADHD struck. North Italy was especially excited. He had almost forgotten how fun it was to work with his brother on projects. Romano was way better at dealing with stubborn technology than he was (i.e. he smacked it around and threatened to turn it into scrap metal) and had a surprising amount of dedication to the project.

Veneziano told him that he'd buy him a ticket to join him in the New York summit by the end of the week. It had been awhile since his little brother had been so bound and determined to get him to go to a meeting, which Romano thought was odd, but it felt nice to be needed for a change, so he never brought it up.

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>On the morning of their flight, Veneziano was sweating bullets. He still hadn't been able to tell Romano about the bet he lost and now had a scary presentation to prepare for as well. At one point, Italy was actually hoping the stage fright would kill him before his brother did. Across the aisle, South Italy was sleeping peacefully. He was completely unaware of what awaited him after the meeting. His younger brother prayed that he would continue napping for the rest of the flight. Romano had the face of an angel when sleeping, but was really scary when he was pissed off.<p>

By some miracle, North Italy had been able to keep his fratello away from the five people who knew about the bet once they landed in New York. He let Romano set up the projector while he distracted everyone else with pasta he had brought as a snack. When South Italy was ready to go, Veneziano pushed for starting the meeting early. Impressed by his friend's newfound productivity, Germany agreed and requested that America call everyone to order, as their host.

The Italy brothers had no trouble beginning their report after the welcoming formalities were over. Romano was a bit confused why his typically enthusiastic brother kept fumbling over his words and looked ready to faint, but had been able to cover up most of his mistakes, making a few even look intentional. That's what big brothers were for, right?

The other Nations in the room were more surprised that North Italy had gone a full thirty minutes without mentioning 'pasta' or 'pretty girls.'

Once the presentation was over, the meeting was scheduled to continue. Romano began walking to his usual spot next to Spain, causing Veneziano's eyes to widen like saucers. If Romano sat there, Spain would definitely mention the bet. And if his brother heard about it secondhand, that would only make things worse. Visions of mafia members dragging him away in a black car danced across his vision. Quickly, Veneziano grabbed his brother's arm and dragged him down into a nearby seat, as far away from Spain and the Bad Touch Trio as possible.

"What's gotten into you, bastardo?" he hissed.

"I-I…I just really want to sit by you today, fratello!" Italy whispered back.

"Whatever…" Romano huffed, leaning back in his chair. He tried to pay attention to Japan's presentation about Climate Investment Funds while going over a mental list of possible explanations for Vene's current clinginess.

Three agonizing hours later, everyone was dismissed by America. Italy frantically wondered if he could sneak out of the building with Romano while the other Nations distracted the easy-going Superpower. There were enough thanking the blonde for being the host this time. If he sprinted, he was sure they could make it before—

"Well, I guess you're coming with me, South Italy," America walked over to them with a grin.

"Excuse me?" Romano arched an eyebrow.

"I have the whole night planned out for us!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" the brunette crossed his arms. He wasn't aware of any plans with the Superpower.

"You didn't tell him?" America blinked, turning his gaze to the younger Italy.

"Tell me what?" Romano glared at his brother.

"V-V-Ve…" his bottom lip quivered.

"Have _fun_, lovebirds!" Prussia strolled by with his two buddies, waving. "Kesesesese!"

"If he does anything funny, call me and I'll cut him in half!" Spain immediately gave Romano a tight hug, as if he would never see him again.

France had turned his attention to his former colony, placing an arm around his broad shoulders, poking him in the chest with his free hand.

"If you don't at least get to second base, Papa will be _very_ disappointed with you…"

"What the fuck is going on?!" Romano shouted.

The others appeared just as surprised as the half-nation upon realizing that _he didn't know_. None of them were sure exactly how to tell him what happened, having assumed his brother would. Everyone suddenly found the windows and carpet inside the hotel meeting room to be the most fascinating things in the world. Most were too afraid to make eye contact Romano for fear of him demanding an explanation out of them. Finally, a brave soul stepped forward.

"Veneziano, America, France, Spain, bruder, and I were playing a game of poker after last week's meeting," Germany tried to speak up for his friend. "Veneziano ended up betting you at one point and lost to America."

"What?!" Romano roared, fighting the urge to strangle his dimwitted brother.

"Veee! Fratello, I'm so sorry!" Italy burst into tears. "This has never happened before! I've always won!"

"Wait, you've bet me _before?!"_

"Mi dispiace!" the younger Italy continued to wail. "Please don't let the mafia take me away! I'm really, really sorry!"

Romano stiffened his shoulders and took a deep breath. He couldn't lose it here with all these idiots around, but he wanted answers…and possibly some aspirin.

"So you didn't actually need me to come to the meeting because you wanted my help. You only wanted me here because you needed to sell me off to repay one of your damned poker debts!"

Veneziano flinched at the words, a pang of guilt ripping across his chest. He knew Romano was trying to sound tough, even though he was really hurt.

"B-But you really did help me with my presentation…"

"Vai all'inferno!" the tsundere snarled back and stormed off.

Italy felt like shrinking back into the wall and disappearing among the various flowers on the wallpaper. He buried his face in his hands. How could he have done something so awful to his brother and not even had the guts to tell him about it?

"Don't worry, North Italy, I'll go talk to him," America grinned. "He's gonna have so much fun in New York, that he'll forget he was ever mad at you!"

Italy managed to nod weakly and the Hero took off after his brother. He still felt like the scum of the Earth for putting everyone through this. Veneziano never dreamed a bet could take such a turn for the worse. Germany rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder and Prussia ruffled the brunette's hair.

"I think that went over pretty well, overall. Kesesese!"

"Minus the shouting?"

"Minus the shouting," the albino nodded.

"And the lying?"

"And the lying."

"_And_ the enormous waves of guilt?"

"Dammit, Franny, you're not helping!"

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><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Once Romano found himself in an unoccupied corridor, he let more of his anger out. Not only did Veneziano gamble him in a poker game (and lose) he was too afraid to talk to him about it because he started associating his big brother with the mafia now! The fucking <em>mafia!<em> The bastardos Romano had struggled to keep away from his innocent fratello for the better part of the last 200 years.

He kicked one of the trash bins in his anger. It was sent hurtling down the hallway and into the opposing wall, its contents erupting upon impact. Romano didn't care. He was too upset to even think straight. All he could do was blindly stomp off in a random direction and hope it got him somewhere.

"If you could not kick the trash bins across the hall, the maintenance staff would really appreciate it."

"What the hell do you want, bastard?" Romano turned towards America angrily. "Are you here to kidnap me or whatever?"

"Just the opposite!" he maintained his cheery expression. "I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to."

"Huh?"

"I'm calling off the bet."

Truthfully, he had been hoping the South Italian would still want to hang out, but had second thoughts when he saw how upset he was. If spending time with him troubled Romano so much, the blonde didn't want to force him to come along and have a miserable time.

"Wait, you're what?" Romano wasn't sure he heard him right.

"It was supposed to just be for fun," America explained. "I don't want something like that to cause so much trouble for everyone, especially you, since you had no say in the matter at all."

Romano was silent for a moment, going over his options. Here he had the chance to go back home, have a few glasses of wine, and pretend the whole thing was a bad dream…at least until Veneziano or the Dumb Bastard Trio reminded him about it. Still…his pride told him to go through with the bet anyway because Italians always kept their word. Or at least he and his brother did. Romano didn't want to ruin that or make them look bad by taking the easy way out and exploiting the blonde idiot's kindness.

"Argh…No, it's fine," Romano ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth away the stress. "You said you already had plans?"

"You mean it?" America's eyes lit up.

"O-Oi, don't make me regret changing my mind!"

"No way!" the Superpower grabbed his wrist in excitement and half-led, half-dragged Romano towards the parking garage. "You're gonna have so much fun, you'll be thanking your bro for losing the game!"

"You really have a way with words, don't you bastard?" Romano rolled his eyes, struggling to keep up for a moment. "Not to mention, tact."

"Sorry, just excited!" America laughed. It had been forever since he got to show someone around New York, which was one of his favorite cities.

The two nations entered the parking area reserved for employees and various important people. Most of the Nations didn't bother using it unless they planned to rent a car for an extended stay in the Big Apple. When they stopped walking, the Italian stared at what he assumed to be America's car. It was his turn to be excited, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

"We're driving around in _this?_" Romano eyed the vehicle in wonder.

It was like some kind of car porn. He couldn't believe America had managed to get one of these babies, last he'd heard it was still in the development phase! The black supercar in front of them was like a combination of all Romano's favorite Lamborghini details rolled up into one sexy and aggressive design. The low windshield and rear end design from the original Countach, the rounded front fenders of the Miura, and the more modern jet-fighter lines from the Aventador – it was a small miracle South Italy's legs didn't give out on him right then and there.

"Some call this the Lamborghini Ferruccio concept car. I call it the street legal Batmobile."

Romano was speechless. At one point, he'd even pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. The American beside him grinned; glad he had at least listened to _some_ of France's suggestions for taking the Italian out in style. Even he had to admit, he shouted 'Holy Lambos, Batman!' when he originally borrowed it.

The duo got in and the Italian tried not to openly weep as the engine purred to life. They headed out to the main road in complete comfort and style. Romano was practically bouncing in his seat, more than happy to explore all of the various features on the interior. The brunette even took out his phone and took a few pictures to commemorate the day he died and went to car heaven. When he was less pissed off at his brother, he was definitely going to brag. From the few glances America stole, he was amazed by how well South Italy controlled his excitement and handled every dial and button with great care. It was kind of cute, in a way…

"Hey, bastard, can you go any faster?" Romano asked like a little kid with a new toy.

"Not until I get out of city limits, it's a little crowded here."

"Then what are you waiting for?" The Southern Italian smirked.

America flashed him a smile and headed for the freeway. It wasn't often his passengers actually _encouraged_ him to go faster. Canada and Iggy would always scold him about it and France outright refused to get into the same car as him since the 40's…

"Hey bastard, what're we doing now?"

"80."

"Is that the temperature or how slow you're driving?"

The blonde felt his grin growing wider. He steadily pressed on the gas…

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><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Drifting was like second-nature to the American. He preferred deserted roads to freeways, but he supposed he couldn't complain, since he only had to share the road with half a dozen others at a time. The further they got away from the city, the less busy it was. A particular sign for a rest area caught America's eye and he made the turn off at the following exit. Before long, a large parking lot came into view.<p>

"Hey, Romano," he grinned at his passenger. "How do you feel about doughnuts?"

"Please tell me you're talking about stunt driving and not the crap you call food."

America answered by launching the car into a large circle, progressively making it tighter and tighter as he pressed the clutch and pulled the hand brake. The second the rear wheels locked up, the Superpower released the hand brake, let the clutch out, and floored the accelerator. All that built-up power started spinning them around in several circles. Both Nations began laughing wildly as the tire smoke gradually faded away. Sure, doughnuts were kind of pointless as far as car stunts went, but they were still fun. Maybe if all meetings ended this way, people would actually look forward to them.

"That one was for you," America winked.

"Heh, maybe you're not such a bad host, after all," quipped the Italian. "Long, boring-ass G8 meeting aside…"

"Careful, you almost sound like you're enjoying yourself," the blonde chuckled.

"Sh-Shut up and drive the damn car, bastard!" Romano felt his cheeks burn slightly. He looked away, so he wouldn't have to meet the Superpower's eyes.

"Aww, don't be like that, I was just kidding!" America nudged his new car buddy. "Forgive me?"

"Hell, no."

"Please?"

"Make me."

After several passing runs that would have been horrifying for most people, Romano seemed content and America was more than forgiven. They continued burning rubber towards the city. Traffic stayed surprisingly light and they made it back in record time. This was good. They had a baseball game to catch!

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Romano had made himself right at home in America's personal Batmobile, but stepping out and staring at their next destination was another story. Yankee Stadium was downright <em>intimidating<em>. What with its looming limestone walls and endless parking lot. Then again, it could have been the fans. Swarms of people covered head to toe in blue, white, and grey were throwing tailgate parties out of the backs of their cars. Romano was secretly happy when America didn't drag them into any. Some of those fans made his nation's own fanatic football fans look like sane, well-adjusted members of society.

Navigating through the sea of bodies filling the stadium was next to impossible, so Romano was grateful for his tour guide's ability to move people while going on about various Yankee Stadium trivia. He didn't even complain when America led him by the shoulder down the crowded Gates like some kind of bodyguard. The last thing the Italian wanted was to get lost in a sea of giants. He didn't know much about baseball, but had heard about several steroid controversies. The more he saw of the baseball crowd, the more he was convinced it wasn't the players who were on drugs, it was their _fans_. Romano was relieved when they finally made it to their seats. The gigantic ballpark filled with strange Americans was still a little overwhelming, but he had to admit the frieze running across the entire grandstand was a nice touch. According to his walking Wikipedia, it was based off the one from the original Yankee Stadium. Having been to both ball parks, America couldn't decide which one he liked better.

"I got us these seats because it's just past the third base line," America smiled, sitting down and waving down the man carting around refreshments. When he saw Romano's confused expression, he continued with his explanation. "It's got a great view of the entire field and there's a better chance to catch foul balls than sitting behind home plate. Gotta get in on that foul ball action, you know!"

"Sounds like a pain in the ass to me."

"Not if you catch a baseball! That's almost as good as your team winning!" America laughed. "Of course, homerun balls are the best, but I'd be happy with anything at this point."

"…You haven't caught one yet?" The Italian arched an eyebrow. "I thought you went to a lot of these things."

"I do, but I have crap luck when it comes to that sort of thing," he laughed. "I must have used it all up when I won you for the day in that last poker game."

"Che…idiota."

The proud Nation went on to explain the rules of the game in greater depths to his 24 hour prize. Romano had never really had much of an interest in baseball before, so he alternated between listening to the blonde ramble on and decking him when America shoved snacks in his mouth so fast it was a wonder he didn't choke. Once the Superpower finished his speech about baseball rules, he launched into another about baseball teams. Today the Yankees were playing their bitter rivals the Red Sox.

"Which team are you cheering for?" asked Romano. Neither of them had changed since their meeting, besides taking their suit jackets off, so he couldn't go by team colors.

"Oh, I always cheer for the home team to be fair," grinned the blonde. "So today, it's the Yankees."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that," the tsundere rolled his eyes. "What with this being called _Yankee_ _Stadium_ and all…"

Not long after, the game started with a bang. The entire crowd was on their feet for the National Anthem, sung by a ten-year-old girl. America beamed with pride and mouthed the words under his breath. For being so young, the little girl was considerably talented and the Superpower knew he wasn't the only one in the stands with misty eyes. That usually didn't happen to him unless the Olympics were involved.

When everyone finished applauding the little girl, the announcers introduced themselves and the two teams to get the blood pumping (or spilling in this case. America wasn't kidding about the bitter rivalry between the Yankees and Red Sox). Anticipation surged through the stadium like electricity. It wasn't long before baseball fever spread and even Romano got a little too into the game, surprising himself. Not that it was his fault, of course. If he had to single out a reason (besides America bringing him here) he would go with the asshole sitting near them, who cheered on his team by bashing America's.

"What position are you playing? Left-Out?!" the man shouted, far from done. "I've seen better arms on a fucking chair!"

Several people shot him angry looks, but nobody said anything yet.

"Pitcher got a rubber arm! Pitcher got a rubber arm!" the Red Sox fan began chanting. "The average age for you Yankees is _deceased!_"

Romano felt his eye twitch. It was taking everything he had not to yell something back at him. Why wasn't anyone else putting this prick in his place?

"Do you guys actually practice, or do you just show up for the games?!" the man sneered, waving around his Red Sox banner obnoxiously. "I heard the first nine Yankees fans who showed up today got to start the game!"

"Oi," South Italy hissed at the Superpower. "Are you gonna just let him talk shit like that?"

"Eh, I don't really care, both teams are good," he replied with a smile. In his head, he kicked himself for not going with a spot closer to the home team's dugout to be farther away from Red Sox fans (trying to bring diehard Yankees and Red Sox fans together during a game was like locking England and Spain in a room together during their pirating days – loud, violent, and little else. Thank god he and Romano were cool and didn't hold grudges like their old caretakers). Either way, America hadn't thought of this when buying tickets last week. He was lucky to get any at that point.

Meanwhile, Romano sipped on some soda and tried to let it go, but it sounded like the asshole was insulting America. Not really stopping to think why he felt the need to defend the blonde's honor, he started talking smack right back at the trash-talking fan.

"Can we play you losers every week?!" he cupped his hands over his mouth to make sure the stronzo sitting a few rows down heard him. "I know the Red Sox are used to disappointment! They wouldn't know a win if it bit them in the ass!"

Not expecting someone to interrupt his heckling, the Red Sox fan turned around and glared at the Italian. A few other surprised faces, America's included, also turned to face Romano and watch the exchange.

"What'd you say?!"

"The only thing worse than this pitcher is his fans!" the Italian shouted. "I bet his own family cheers for the Yankees!"

"Shut your trap, you little punk! My team wants this win more! The Yankees have about as much drive as my grandmother's old car!"

"We aren't here to see who 'wants it more,' we're here to see who's better at _winning!_"

"Keep talking kid, see what happens!" the man angrily pointed at Romano.

"Yeah, we'll see how long you last. I only have to be here nine innings, but you have to cheer for the Red Sox all year!" Romano smirked. "You may as well leave now and go warm up the bus!"

The ticked-off fan was about to shout something back, but was drowned out by the other Yankees fans chanting "Warm up the bus!" around him.

The other guy finally shut up, but it was only a temporary reprieve. Sometime in the sixth inning, a fly ball headed their way and it was on. South Italy recalled that America really wanted one and hadn't caught one, despite the hundreds of games he'd been to. Before the brunette knew it, his feet were carrying him into the aisle, towards the descending ball. Unfortunately, his nemesis, The Red Sox Bastard, was after it too. Both men collided and fell backwards. The crowd was too distracted by the battle to register that the ball landed on the stairs. Romano managed to recover first and nabbed the ball before the other man. He held it up with pride towards America, waving it around like an idiot.

"Take that, jerk! I got one of these my first game! In your face, hamburger bastard!"

He started to head back to his seat and nearly tripped over a little boy. The kid must have run over to try to get the foul ball too. Romano wasn't sure who, but the pipsqueak reminded him of someone… Golden hair, pale blue eyes, and a smile so wide, the Italian could see his missing tooth. The kid didn't get the ball, but he still looked so damned happy about it, as if just being at the game was enough for him. Romano had a sudden change of heart and handed the ball over to the runt.

"H-here. It's not like I need the dumb thing."

"Woooow!" the little blonde boy stared up at him in awe. "Thanks, mister! You're the best!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't mention it."

When he got back, South Italy swore that the little brat stole the ball from him. America snickered and pointed to something in the field.

"The giant videoboard in center field says otherwise."

"W-What?!" Romano watched in horror as the glorified TV screen replayed the touching scene of him giving the ball to the kid and how happy the little boy looked. Several people throughout the stadium 'awed' until the image was replaced with the current scoreboard.

"I hate kids," the tsundere sunk deeper into his seat, feeling his face grow warm. "I didn't even like kids when I _was_ a kid!"

"You're a really good guy, Romano! I don't know why you hide it," smiled America. "I bet that boy thinks you're his hero!"

"Then he has crappy taste in heroes, pass the popcorn," the brunette crossed his arms, blush darkening.

The Superpower responded by wrapping an arm around him and squeezing his shoulders affectionately.

"What was that for?"

"That kid's American, so I can sense how happy you just made him," he smiled. "It was kind of like finally getting a fly ball myself."

"I think that's more like stealing, bastard."

America just laughed heartily, nothing could ruin his good mood at this point. Today was the first time he'd ever been able to take another Nation to a baseball game. His brother preferred hockey and Iggy always complained that he just didn't understand the game. The fact that baseball has been called his country's national pastime meant nothing to them. However, in a way, it was better waiting an extra couple years to take someone like Romano, who actually got into the game like him.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>The game ended with another victory for the home team. By the end of the final inning, the guys had devoured the crackerjacks, popcorn and candy, so it was off to McDonald's for a snack…South Italy was not happy.<p>

"What happened to never forcing me to do something I didn't want to?" Romano grumbled, using the blonde's earlier words against him.

"That was before you agreed to the bet!" the Superpower laughed, steering him towards main entrance.

"Fucking bastard…"

"Hey, now…language. This is a family restaurant, remember?"

Romano hissed the same thing in Italian.

"That's better."

The half-nation let out an aggravated sigh as he walked through the door America held open for him. They were immediately bombarded with the greasy smell of unknown meats frying and more golden arches and demonic clowns than an amusement park run by Satan. The Italian half-expected one of those creepy plastic statues to come to life and strangle them to death with its brightly colored hands. He moved on to stare at the 'Happy Meal Prizes' display. From what South Italy could gather, children who survived their meal would be rewarded with prizes until they finally succumbed to food poisoning or managed to build up a tolerance and fell victim to obesity.

At the counter, America ordered for both of them and treated because Romano had been a good sport about the bet so far…and he was secretly proud of the way the little guy stood up to and out-heckled the veteran heckler back at Yankee Stadium. Of course, that wasn't even counting how cool he was when he managed to get a fly ball _and_ gave it to a little kid in the end. South Italy was way more awesome than he imagined!

_Now where is he…?_

America looked around the restaurant for his new friend. Somehow he had a feeling he'd be in trouble if he lost the guy. It would probably be worse than the time he got fed up with England complaining about his lack of 'the Queen's English' at a meeting and called him a 'Grammar Nazi' …right in front of Germany. Whoops. Brushing off the thought, his eyes rested on a familiar figure near the condiments counter.

"There you are!" grinned the approaching blonde, realizing that Romano had been more transfixed by the current toy prizes than ketchup or napkins. "Should I have ordered you a Happy Meal instead of a Value Meal?"

A pair of annoyed green eyes glared daggers at him in response.

They got their food and headed for a booth in the corner. The brunette poked the food on his tray nervously. Eventually, America was able to coax him into trying a bite. Romano immediately started complaining about the onset of food poisoning, but managed to eat a few more bites of his burger and fries.

"I'm proud of you," America patted the half-nation's head. "This was a big first step."

"Don't treat me like a kid!"

The old-timers sitting across from their booth were more than a little confused by the angry brunette claiming he was several hundred years older than his "asshole" blonde friend, who asked if he should be calling him "old man" instead of "South Italy." Young people are so weird…

"Okay, okay, you were such a good sport; I'll make it up to you by taking you somewhere cool!"

"Where? A hospital?"

"Better!" America laughed, depositing their empty tray and leading them back outside. "There's something in Central Park I think you'll like."

"Hmph, fine…but only because I like your car," the Italian scoffed.

"I'm a little worried of how easy it would be to kidnap you, Romano," America chuckled. "If all it takes is pulling up in a nice car, you better watch yourself."

"Shut up and drive," Romano sat in the passenger seat and made some crazy Italian hand gesture the blonde didn't quite understand.

America brought the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Today had been a blast already and it wasn't even half-over! The Superpower was thrilled to hang out with another Nation for a change. Both he and Romano had been around for awhile, but neither really knew each other with the whole ocean between them and all. In meetings, America had only seen the short-tempered, quick to argue, sharp-tongued side of South Italy, which didn't bother him any (if anything, it reminded him of another tsundere he knows). It was a real treat to spend time with Romano outside of work, to see what an awesome guy he is. America just hoped he was having an equally good time. He glanced back over at the Italian, who was busy watching buildings and people pass by them on the road.

Looking back on it all, Romano realized that he had been enjoying himself more than he thought he would (not that he'd ever admit it). America could have been a complete ass about the afternoon so far, but he was actually being really cool about everything (minus the McDonald's). Judging by the car ride and baseball game, the hamburger bastard must have put _some_ thought into planning all this. It didn't even sound like he had to put together any kind of elaborate event, per the rules of the bet. It didn't sound like there _were_ any. If anything, America was doing him a favor (Romano didn't want to think about what the others would have made him do if _they_ won the poker game instead of America). South Italy had always assumed the Superpower was a loud, show-off in _and_ out of meetings. He never would have guessed that hanging out with him one on one could actually be…fun.

…Or maybe the McDonald's was messing with his head. Yeah, that had to be it.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>AN – Yeah…lots of liberties were taken with the car scenes. XD

I have nothing against the Red Sox. I just know they have a big rivalry with the Yankees. Romano would have given that guy shit no matter what team he was rooting for.

I'm actually having more fun doing the research for this story than I thought I would. Generally, I'm a bit of a research junkie anyway, but usually I at least know a _little_ about what I'm researching. Yeah…not modern New York. I could probably write an essay about _old_ New York, but not _new_ New York, if that makes any sense. If you see anything that's completely off, please let me know!

-Rajikka

**Translations**

**Fratello** – Brother (It.)

**Mi dispiace** – I'm sorry (It.)

**Tsundere** – A type of character seen in anime or manga known for appearing cold or hostile, but having a hidden sweet side. "Tsun Tsun" is the aloof or irritable side, while "Dere Dere" is the lovey dovey side. (Jp.)

**Vai all'inferno** – Go to hell (It.)

**Stronzo** – Asshole or bastard (It.)

**Idiota** – Idiot (It.)


	3. Jack of Hearts

_Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it _

_Warning: strong language, boy x boy pairings_

I'm glad so many of you liked the baseball game. Here's the second half of the afternoon/night!

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>"And over here, you can see a great view of the Statue of Liberty," America used his best tour guide voice.<p>

"One of the few sculptures that French bastard's people managed to do a halfway decent job on," Romano replied.

America laughed and told him about how France originally sent it in pieces. Romano snickered and looked away from the window. He wasn't exactly sure where their next destination was, but at least the sights were good. Romano made the mistake of complimenting him on the statue's location, sighing when it went straight to America's head. The Hero insisted that it only looks as good as it does because he helped assemble it.

"Heh, it's kind of funny, but a few years back, England tried to convince me it was actually a Weeping Angel France sent to destroy me. I barely slept for a week!"

"Huh?" Romano arched an eyebrow. He didn't think he'd ever fully understand their level of family drama.

"You know, Weeping Angels…One of the monsters from _Doctor Who_…Steals your potential life energy if it touches you…"

The half-nation had no idea what the blonde idiot was going on about. Was this some kind movie or something? Romano slowly blinked.

"No! Don't blink!" America cracked up.

"You are so weird, sometimes…"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>They parked the Batmobile on the outskirts of the park on West 67th Street to get some fresh air. Romano needed less bribery to leave the Lamborghini this time, as he was previously promised some kind of surprise in Central Park. America seemed convinced he would like it, which made it that much more interesting to the brunette.<p>

"So, where are we going, bastard?"

"It's a secret!"

"What?"

"I wanna surprise you!"

"Ugh…fine," Romano sighed. "This had better be worth it, hamburger bastard…"

"Trust me, you'll love it!" America placed a hand on the Italian's shoulder and steered him back towards the path they needed.

He had planned on swinging by the Statue of Liberty first, to put them on the west side of town. The particular exhibit he had in mind was also on the west side of the park, so it worked out well. America was stoked to see Romano's reaction when they arrived at their destination. It was really hard to bottle that up and not give away the surprise before they got there. Good thing it was just a short walk from where they entered. The Nations fell in step a little ways behind a group of tourists from Alabama.

"Y'all ready to see the park?"

"You're awful keen to innerduce us to a park before we meet your new boy…"

"I already told ya he works 'til five! Let's just enjoy the nice hollyhocks and tulips, alright?"

"Lookit, you! Actin' like you from here!"

"Hush, you. She's been stayin' here with her baby for five months now."

"I still say he couldn't manage his way out of a paper bag…"

"Daddy, you never even _met_ him!"

"She's right, that ain't fitting, honey."

"But I—"

"It don't differ to me, sweetie. Go on and show us the nice flowers."

"Are they going to the same place we are?" Romano asked his personal tour guide.

"They might be, hun, but I'll never tell."

"Hmph…idiota…" the brunette complained, but continued walking. Since America wasn't telling him anything, Romano took in everything else around him.

He had to admit the landscaping was very good. For the first time since he entered New York, South Italy found himself surrounded by nature. Everything from the colorful flowers to the brickwork was well-kept and welcoming. It was just the breath of fresh air he needed. Romano was beginning to relax when he felt a set of hands fly over his eyes.

"Che cazzo!" he spat.

"Sorry, but I just saw an exhibit sign and didn't want it to ruin the surprise!" America laughed from beside him.

"How the hell am I supposed to get there with you covering my eyes, dumbass?"

"I'm your tour guide, remember? I'll get you there safe and sound," the blonde promised, shifting his hands so that one was covering Romano's eyes and the other was supporting his shaky hand. The half-nation quickly held on tight as soon as their hands made contact.

"If I trip, I swear I'm taking you down with me."

"Fair enough."

"This is so stupid…" South Italy began tottering along.

"It'll be worth it, I promise!"

"Fine, fine…"

Romano's initial steps with his human blindfold were a little awkward, but they managed to settle into a steady pace once the tsundere trusted the blonde enough to not shove him into the lake. The Hero smiled a little when he felt the tension leave South Italy's shoulders. He gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and carefully led him down the path. America proved to be an excellent seeing-eye dog. Within a few minutes, Romano was walking as normally as a man being blindfolded in a crowded public area could manage.

Since he could no longer see anything, the Italian tried to pick up on various smells and sounds after he was comfortable walking. Judging by the almost lemon-like aroma in the air, Romano guessed they walked past a patch of daylilies. He had a few of those in his own garden back home. Several different birds sang above in the trees. If Vene was here, he could probably identify a few of them (or join in their song like the little princess he is). It was crowded today, so people were chattering on all sides. All of their words crashed together into one big jumbled ocean, so Romano tried to pick out people close by.

"Where's your brothers, sugar?"

"They're fixin' to go for a hike."

"In the middle of some city park? That just dudden add up..."

"I always said they ain't got the good sense God gave a rock!"

They must still be behind the family from earlier. That group had a distinctive drawl to their voice that Romano hadn't heard much before. The speech sounded a little more slurred than the English he was used to, but still had a certain smoothness to it. If he had to describe it, he would say it sounded more relaxed, with each vowel drawn out. It sounded interesting and sweet on the ear.

"Are we there yet, bastard?"

"Almost."

"You said that five minutes ago!"

"More like twenny seconds ago," America laughed, a slight lilt to his voice. "Sorry, Darlin' you'll just have to be patient. You sound as anxious as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

"What dialect _is_ that?" Romano asked, realizing the Superpower was now speaking like the group ahead of them.

"Huh?" The American sounded confused for a moment. Then he chuckled. "Oh, it's Southern. Heh, I didn't even notice I lapsed into it."

"Oh," Romano tried not to arch his back every time he felt his companion's laughter vibrate through his chest. He had been so caught up in not falling on his face, that he didn't even realize how close they were standing. Romano was grateful he was standing in front, so America couldn't see his face turn red. He quickly tried to keep the other distracted. "Do you use that accent a lot?"

"It's as sweet as honey, so it's hard to resist!" The Superpower grinned. "I tend to automatically switch over to whatever American dialect I'm exposed to over a certain period of time. Southern's fun, but I stopped using it around other Nations."

"Why?" Romano asked, genuinely curious. He found himself enjoying the way it flowed.

"Iggy and Francy-Pants always confuse it for 'Redneck' and give me a hard time about it," he explained. "But it's okay, those two could start an argument in an empty house, so I don't let it get to me."

"W-Well, I don't mind if you use it…" Romano felt his face grow warmer. "Not that I really care what you use. You never shut up anyway."

"Why, thank you kindly, sugar," America couldn't help but chuckle, as he steered the brunette closer to the art display.

"Even _I_ know that's being over the top, asshole…"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>After what felt like forever to the Italian, the hand cupping his eyes closed was removed and Romano was temporarily blinded by the sunlight. Noticing how quiet the area they entered was, he managed to bite back the insult on the tip of his tongue, instead allowing his eyes to readjust. When they finally did, Romano was amazed.<p>

At their feet was a beautiful circular mosaic, decorated with black and white marble. It had a distinct Greco-Roman design and the word "IMAGINE" impressed in the center. Romano walked a little closer, under the shade of the large elm trees to examine it. He now knew without a doubt they were in Strawberry Fields, the Garden of Peace. The mosaic was a present from his nation to the blonde's sometime in the mid-80's, if he remembered correctly. Romano had been in Naples when the mosaic was being created, but never had a chance to see where it ended up. He had been meaning to see it after one of these New York meetings, but something else always came up.

America caught a glance of South Italy silently admiring the mosaic with a peaceful expression on his face. A nearby musician plucked a tune on his guitar in one of the surrounding benches that brought a smile to the Italian's face. The blonde took in the calmer side of the half-nation, intrigued by all the layers that made up Romano. America wondered how much of the real Romano he had seen and how much was still undiscovered. He quickly looked away when the slightly shorter man turned to face him.

"Thanks for bringing me here, bastard," he whispered, adhering to the park's Quiet Zone rules. "I helped with the project a little, but never saw the finished piece…"

America couldn't help but stare. South Italy was _smiling_. It was the brightest and most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Why didn't he do that more often? From that moment on, the Hero made it his personal mission to get more smiles like that out of the Italian.

"No problem," the blue-eyed man beamed back. "The Hero is always happy to help."

Romano graced him with a chuckle, the serene environment making him feel less angry. This lasted for as long as it took a tourist to walk right over the mosaic, causing South Italy to snap – _Nobody_ steps on his nation's art!

"What the hell are you doing, you fucking idiot?!"

The tourist froze like a deer in the headlights.

"You think it's okay to walk over my artwork?!" Romano started stomping over to the guy. "How about I walk over your _neck?!_"

America quickly dragged the thrashing Nation away, reminding him it's supposed to be a quiet zone for _peace_. The tsundere paid him no mind and continued shouting out threats, even after thoroughly scaring the shit out of the tourist. Finally, America got him to a secluded bench and calmed him down by assuring him that most visitors treat it with care and walk around it.

"R-Really, bastard?" South Italy was still a little defensive about his nation's art.

"I promise," he nodded. "It's too incredible to walk over like some sidewalk or pathway."

"Damned right it is."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Once things were back under control, the two nations made their way back to the Batmobile. The plan was to head back to America's place to chill for the rest of the evening. Romano had been enjoying the sights of the park on their way back, now that he didn't have anyone covering his eyes. America had been using his Southern drawl to provide him with more information and fun facts than any of the park signs ever could. Romano just nodded; never would he admit that he was secretly enjoying it.<p>

It wasn't until they were back to the sleek Lamborghini that a look of discomfort crossed the Italian's face. The Superpower noticed and asked him what was wrong. Did the half-nation spot that mosaic-ruining tourist again?

"I…forgot to grab my overnight bag," Romano admitted, a faint dusting of red on his cheeks. "I really don't want to go back to the hotel and grab it from my stupid fratello because that would involve seeing my stupid fratello."

"Yeah, I kind of thought that would be the case," America grinned. "I called the hotel earlier and had them pick up your luggage from your bro. By now, it should already be at my place."

"Wha…uh, thanks," South Italy reluctantly thanked him. "I'm surprised you actually planned ahead for once. It was…thoughtful."

"Aww, Roma! You're gonna make me blush!" he laughed and the Italian really did blush, mentally cursing those gorgeous Southern tones.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>When they pulled up to America's apartment building, Romano couldn't hide his shock. The modern framework and sheer size was impressive, but the Superpower had always struck him more as a house kind of guy. Apartments had rules, households had independence. When it bugged him enough, he asked America about it.<p>

"Yeah, my favorite properties are my houses," the blonde agreed. "But my apartments are all cool too!"

The green-eyed man gave him a confused look.

"I have lots of different homes across my land," America explained. "My land is so big that I have to have a bunch or I'd feel disconnected with the rest of my country. I like moving around a lot, so having a place to stay in each region makes visiting a lot easier too."

South Italy nodded. America really did march to the beat of his own drum. Most of the Nations tended to live in a neighborhood for a couple years before moving to keep from attracting attention from neighbors. Not aging at all will do that. A few of the Nations favored certain cities or areas and bought secluded houses to not worry about nosy neighbors. Romano himself hated parting with his houses (because hey, he put a lot of effort into each garden), so he rotated between his house in Sicily and the one he shared with Veneziano in Rome.

The two parked and entered the building. The lobby was a large, well-lit room with framed photographs of the New York skyline. America waved to the large man behind the desk and led South Italy to the elevator. They got on and were taken with a whoosh to one of the top floors.

"Welcome to Casa de America!" the blonde smiled and held the door open for him.

Romano snorted and walked in. He was immediately taken aback by how neat and orderly everything was. He wasn't expecting America to be a total slob, but this was almost _too_ clean. The wooden floors looked freshly polished and every table and countertop was practically sparkling. Even the pillows on the long black couches appeared expertly fluffed and arranged artistically, the cream colored pillows bordered by a black pillow on each side. One wall was covered in giant windows and the other framed photos of various locations in New York, neither containing a speck of dust. The only thing that South Italy could imagine America willingly dusting was the large screen TV on top of the entertainment center.

Romano suspected sorcery. Or at the very least, a housekeeper.

"So who takes care of the place for you?" the Italian smirked. "Do you have a maid or a secret wife?"

"Rosa's the housekeeper only because _she_ insists on it," he pouted back. "It's not like I have a housekeeper at every place. Just this one and Colorado because of all the snow it gets."

"So, your housekeeper is the one giving _you_ orders?" Romano couldn't help but tease him. It was hilarious to imagine anyone bossing America around.

"If you met her, you'd understand," the blonde closed the door. "How about a tour?"

America eagerly dragged him around the large apartment, grateful it was finally getting some life into it. Every time he found himself in New York, he was swamped with work and the only people that visited him were Rosa, his co-workers, and the occasional Nation if it was during a meeting. He was very adamant that even though his housekeeper took care of the place, _he_ was the one who picked everything out and decorated.

"It's hard to imagine you in a furniture store at all, hamburger bastard."

"Hey, I did pretty good until I started jumping on the beds to test their mattresses and almost got kicked out."

"Okay, now I believe you," South Italy snickered. He slowly made his way over to one of the many photographs lining the wall. Several were ballparks, a few were seasonal pictures of Central Park bridges, and the rest New York attractions. "Who's the photographer?"

"Me."

"Bullshit."

"No, really. I got a sweet camera from one of my old bosses and Japan taught me how to use it," America insisted, holding up the camera resting on one of the shelves. "See?"

Romano looked over his shoulder as the blonde scrolled through several shots on his fancy digital camera. The quality was just as good as the photographs already adorning the walls.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises, hamburger bastard?"

"Likewise."

Before Romano could retort, America's stomach grumbled like a subway car.

"What's for dinner, bastard?"

"What's your favorite kind of take-out? Chinese? Mexican? _Italian?_"

"Oh, hell no, stronzo…"

"What?"

"I already suffered through McDonald's earlier. I am having _real_ food for dinner," He started walking out of the living room. "You're kitchen's this way, right?"

America was suddenly immensely grateful that his brother had dragged him to a farmer's market sale yesterday. He was getting the impression that Romano wouldn't be amused with Kraft macaroni and hot dogs. The American followed him to the kitchen, where South Italy was already making himself at home and pulling out pots and pans.

"You're the guest; you shouldn't have to cook…"

"Believe me, I _want_ to," Romano pulled out some spaghetti noodles and tried to block out the garbage he was forced to eat a few hours earlier. "Where's your bread, bastard?"

"Uh, here?" America tossed him a bag of sliced bread, perfect for PB & J sandwiches. Romano gave him a look. "What's wrong?"

"I meant dinner bread."

"Fresh out, sorry."

"Then go get more."

"You're kidding."

"It's a large enough miracle you have the essentials for spaghetti, I'm not eating it without a loaf of Italian bread." the brunette pointed a finger at him. "And if you bring me back more of this pre-sliced shit, I'm not letting you back in!"

Somehow America found himself in the hallway, door slammed on his face, post-it note listing 'acceptable' breads in his hand. He made his way over to the elevator, still not exactly sure what happened. Where in the world was he going to find a place open this late that carried Italian bread?

He was so screwed…

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>A dejected America made his way to the main lobby again, when fate smiled upon him. There, standing in the entryway was a short, middle-aged Mexican-American woman with her long black hair pulled into a neat bun. She carried a small purse in one hand and grocery bag in the other. To some, she was just your average Latina, to America, she was salvation in a pair of brown loafers.<p>

"Rosaaaaaaa!" America ran over to her wildly.

"Flaco?" She faced him, a little bewildered. "What are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting today."

"Nah, I'm hanging out with a friend here instead."

Typically on meeting days, he would be out late with the other Nations. Rosa had always assumed that meant drinking with co-workers until dawn, so she had always left him little snacks to help him through his hangover. In reality, America usually spent post-meetings in New York taking his 'parents' to Broadway shows or watching old hockey games at home with his brother and getting into wrestling matches over every penalty. Ironically, the only time Rosa had seen America after a meeting was halfway through a US vs. Canada hockey match. She assumed his disheveled, bruised up appearance was from a long night of drinking with friends when it was actually the result brotherly bonding before even a drop of alcohol was involved.

"Ooh, is that for me?" he asked, taking the load of groceries out of her arms.

"Yes, I was going to make you something to eat later, but if you're home already, I can just make it now."

Rosa would often spend most of her time cooking for America, instead of cleaning for him. Over the years, he had gotten better at keeping the place tidy, but still couldn't make a decent home-cooked meal. Rosa gave up trying to teach him how to cook and invested her time in trying to keep him 'healthy and chunky,' instead.

"Wait, isn't this that stuff people use to make paninis?" the blonde dug through the bag and eyed the loaf of bread with sparkly eyes.

"Yes, but—"

"I'm saved!" America cheered loudly, tossing Romano's list in the air. Panini, Panino, close enough, right? "Rosa, you are the _best!_"

"What's going on, Alfred?" she asked, growing worried. "You're not trying to cook again, are you?"

"No, my friend's over and—"

"_Dios mío!_ It's not the one with the bushy eyebrows is it?" Rosa clutched her heart in fear. "You know you're not supposed to leave the green-eyed devil alone in the kitchen, flaco!"

"Whoa, whoa, relax! It's not Iggy!" America patted her back. He really didn't want to give her a heart attack. "It's my buddy, Romano."

"Romano?"

"Yeah, he's Italian and he's a really good cook!" the blonde recalled a meeting in Rome that the Italy brothers made all the snacks for the break table themselves.

"I don't know, Alfred…" she was unconvinced.

"Would you like to meet him, then?"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Back in the kitchen, Romano finished dicing up more tomatoes for the marinara sauce. He had been pleasantly surprised that America had decent tomatoes (or fresh food) at all. They obviously weren't as good as the tomatoes he grew, but they would suffice. The brunette dumped them into a pot, added some minced garlic, and let it simmer. The door opened as he was poking around the spice rack that looked like it hadn't been used since America became independent.<p>

"I'm back, Romanoooo!"

"That was fast!" he called back. "Did you find the right kind of bread or do I have to lock you out?"

"Yeah, Rosa totally saved me!"

"Rosa…?" Romano wiped his hands and exited the kitchen. Sure enough, America was accompanied by a sharp-eyed Latina, who was staring at the kitchen with distrust.

"Remember? She's my housekeeper and—_wow_, it smells good in here!" he sniffed the air happily. "What're you making?"

"Hand over the bread and I'll tell you," the Italian frowned back, but collected himself and turned on the charm for Rosa. "It's a pleasure to meet you, _signora_. My name is Romano."

"Si…" Rosa responded, shaking his hand. She had been thrown off by the attractive, young man who knew his way around the kitchen if the heavenly aroma greeting them was anything to go by. He was the exact opposite of the rude gentleman with the devil's eyebrows she had met before. It was no surprise she took a liking to the nice, young man right away

While she had been caught up in her thoughts, Romano had been appraising the bread America brought him. He decided it would work and thanked Rosa for bringing it, inviting her to stay for dinner.

"It's not fair that he makes you cook and clean for him all the time," the Italian explained. "You must be exhausted."

"Oh, it's nothing!" Rosa chirped.

"Yeah, she insists on trying to fatten me up, so she can call me 'Gordito.'"

"Hush, Gordito."

"See what I mean?" America ignored the stern look she gave him. "Do you need any help, Romano?"

"Not from you, Gordito," he smirked. Since he wasn't sure if he was supposed to use the blonde's human or Nation name in front of the civilian, South Italy used the nickname that had been so kindly provided for him. He turned around and returned to the kitchen, grocery bag in hand. "Keep Rosa company and don't be too obnoxious."

"I'm never obnoxious!" America protested, kicking off his shoes. As he started pulling off his socks, he got another earful from Rosa, who was convinced he'd wind up with pneumonia without them.

Dinner was prepared in short order. Spaghetti marinara alongside fresh vegetables with another plate of bruschetta and some wine America wasn't even aware he owned. The blonde didn't know the food he had in his kitchen could taste so good. Maybe England was right all along – magic _did_ exist in this world…It was just hiding, until America discovered it in the form of Romano's cooking. Both he and Rosa were singing the Italian's praises long after their last bite.

_If I'd have known Romano was this amazing, I would have made the bet last 24 _years_ instead of 24 hours_…

After the meal, South Italy swiftly collected the dishes and took them to the kitchen. Rosa had offered to help, but the Italian insisted that she was the guest and should relax. In truth, a part of him was bound by Italian-brand chivalry and the other part felt a little guilty that America had done everything for him today. It wasn't that he felt like he had to repay him somehow, he just…didn't want to make it look like he took advantage of the bet and barely lifted a finger all day.

Once he was out of earshot, Rosa tugged on America's ear and whispered to him in rapid Spanish not to let this boy slip through his fingers.

"Está bien, Rosa," America responded in Spanish. He went on to explain how they've known each other for ages and ages.

"You don't understand," Rosa shook her head, continuing in Spanish. "Romanito is a wonderful boy with good cooking skills and a nice butt. Those kind of men have long been considered extinct, so you better not screw this up!"

"Why do you care?" he asked in Spanish.

"Because you're my little boy," she replied in a motherly fashion.

"Aww…"

"And I wouldn't mind if someone like Romanito started hanging around here more often," she added with a wink, the fluent Spanish rolling off her tongue with ease.

"So _that's_ the real reason…" America grumbled in equally fluent Spanish.

"Um…what was that?" Romano asked, causing the two gossipers to startle. "It sounded a little like Spanish, but not what I'm used to…"

Alfred and Rosa quickly changed the topic and explained Mexican-Spanish vs. Spanish-Spanish. The first thing they mentioned, was the first thing Romano noticed – the vowels lost a lot of power and the consonants were fully pronounced. Some of the words sounded more Italian than Spanish with how strongly the consonants were being stressed. However, it wasn't just pronunciation that was different – vocabulary was too. Something completely innocent in European Spanish could be hilariously inappropriate in North American Spanish. Romano could only roll his eyes. Leave it to Spain to not even be able to keep his own language straight.

Shortly after the language lesson, Rosa said she had to be going, but encouraged Romano to visit more often. The Italian said he would try and wished her good luck in dealing with the crazy American she was stuck working for. She laughed and said he could make her job easier by continuing to set a good example for Alfred.

"Standing right here, guys…" America crossed his arms.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Not long after, the guys decided to call it a night. They had a long day and had to get an early start tomorrow morning for whatever whacky adventure the blonde had planned for them. America showed Romano to the guest room, where his bags were waiting for him next to the bed. The Italian insisted on taking a shower because he had set foot inside the foul purgatory that is McDonald's, so the Hero pointed out where the bathroom was again.<p>

Inside his own room, Alfred pulled off his suit and got ready for bed. He tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper, pulling out a slip of paper from his back pocket at the last minute. It was a little crinkled from being folded and unfolded so many times, but the name 'Romano' was still printed neatly across it. This was the slip of paper he won in the poker game a few weeks back and the reason South Italy was here now. America wasn't sure why he kept it, but he was glad he did. Just looking at it made him feel happy.

"Goodnight, Romano…"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Romano woke up in the middle of the night when nature called. He was still half-asleep and exhausted from the previous day's events. The half-nation mumbled about the hotel being different than he remembered, but managed to find his way to his destination. He was less successful on his way back from the bathroom. Entering what he believed to be his room, Romano crawled into the cozy bed, bumping into another warm body. His sleepy brain thought it was just stupid Veneziano, afraid of the dark again, so he ignored him and curled up under the covers.<p>

At some point, the bastardo rolled over and nearly crushed him under his arm. South Italy shoved him off and made a mental note to limit his brother's pasta intake. Vene was heavier than he remembered, so when he was nearly flattened by an arm again, Romano sighed. Instead of wasting the effort of shoving him off again, Romano shifted around until he was more comfortable and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>America was an early-riser for the most part, but today was next to impossible to force his eyes open. He was too darned comfortable! The Nation hadn't slept that well in years. His bed was too soft and his pillow smelled too good. Had Rosa swapped out his shampoo with a different brand again? At least this time it was an improvement. It was fragrant enough to be pleasant, but not too overpowering. America decided he liked the smell and wouldn't object to using it from now on.<p>

He felt a content little smile tug at his lips, but still wasn't ready to fully wake up. His alarm clock hadn't even gone off, so there was no reason to get up quite yet. He snuggled deeper into the blankets and pulled the warm body next to him closer.

…_Wait. WHAT?!_

America woke with a start, nearly falling out of bed and taking half the sheets with him.

"R-Romano?!" he exclaimed, bewildered. He had no clue why he showed up in bed with him.

"…What the fuck do you want, bastard…?" South Italy slowly and angrily woke up, dragging an arm over his eyes to shield himself from the sunlight. Hadn't he closed the blinds earlier? "…I'm trying to _sleep_…"

"In my bed?"

"This is _my_ bed, stupid…now close the damned blinds, too bright…"

The blonde did as asked, chuckling while he pieced things together.

"Let me guess, you got up last night and got lost?"

"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be…" Romano sleepily rolled over with a huff. "You're the one who's lost, bastard…"

America bit back another chuckle.

"Now shut up and let me _sleep_, dammit…"

"Okay, you win," The Hero realized there was no point in arguing with the half-asleep Italian. America settled on pulling covers over his friend's shoulders. "You can sleep here until it's time to head to the amusement park."

"Grazie…" replied a muffled voice.

America tried not to burst out laughing at how sweet and unexpectedly angelic that was.

"Welcome."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>AN – Lots of little headcanons in this one! I'm also prone to switching dialects when in a group for long enough, often without noticing. I'm weird like that. I always wondered how America kept them all straight or chose which one to use, so I added that little headcanon to this story.

I don't think I did American Southern accents justice in this chapter, but I love the idea of America speaking with a Southern drawl. Of course, given my OTP, maybe I just have a thing for southern accents in general XD

Hopefully, the section of America and Rosa speaking in Spanish wasn't too confusing. I wrote most of it in English because I wanted you dear readers to avoid having to constantly scroll down to the Translations section.

-Rajikka

**Translations**

**Fratello** – Brother (It.)

**Tsundere** – A type of character seen in anime or manga known for appearing cold or hostile, but having a hidden sweet side. "Tsun Tsun" is the aloof or irritable side, while "Dere Dere" is the lovey dovey side. (Jp.)

**Idiota** – Idiot (It.)

**Stronzo** – Asshole or bastard (It.)

**Flaco** – Skinny, but in an endearing way (Sp.)

**Panino** – A small bread roll. The plural form of this is _Panini_. The sandwich is called a 'panino imbottito' which means 'stuffed panino.' Often, people outside of Italy mistake the singular form of this to be 'Panini' and make up their own plural form of 'Paninis' like America demonstrated. (It.)

**Signora** – Lady (It.)

**Gordito** – Little fat one, but again as an endearment, not an insult (Sp.)

**Está bien** – It's okay/It's alright (Sp.)

**Grazie** – Thanks (It.)


	4. Queen of Clubs

_Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it _

_Warning: strong language, boy x boy pairings_

Okay, so the place they go in this chapter is not based off anything in particular in (that I know of) in New York. It's kind of a combination of places I've been to in the US with a few artistic liberties thrown into the mix. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>True to his word, America let Romano sleep in a little until it was time to get ready. The amusement park would be opening in an hour and the blonde couldn't wait to go! He'd never been to this park, so he was looking forward to it. Romano didn't quite share his enthusiasm.<p>

"Nooo…go 'way…I'm trying to sleep…"

"But Romano, I _did_ let you sleep," America sat on the side of his bed, poking the mountain of blankets. "It's almost eight…you have to get up."

"No," he grumbled and rolled over so he was facing the wall.

"Romano…don't make me drag you out of bed…"

"Go to hell."

"…I warned you."

America cracked his knuckles and grabbed the entire mountain of blankets, extremely freaked out Italian included. He had planned on tossing Romano over his shoulder, but decided against it with all the thrashing around he was doing.

"Holy mother of fuck! What are you doing, bastard?! Put me down! Put me down!"

"I—_ow_—told you that—_stop pulling my hair_—that it was time to get up!"

America carried him down the hall and dropped him on the bed in the guest room. He warned Romano that if he tried to go back to sleep instead of getting dressed, they'd pick up breakfast at McDonalds. Romano pouted, but the Hero forced himself to be strong. He refused to look at those big, watery green eyes, half-covered by blankets or that pouty bottom lip protruding ever so slightly. Nope. He was the Hero. He did not negotiate. He was strong. He was unwavering. He was...he was seriously going to have to bail before he caved and told the Italian he could go and sleep in as late as he wanted.

About twenty minutes later, a well-groomed, somewhat seething Italian was sitting at the breakfast table, munching on an apple he'd pulled from the fruit bowl. America had tried to pacify him with Nutella. Although, South Italy accepted the peace offering, he wasn't willing to forgive the blonde for the rude awakening. He spread the hazelnut spread across his toast and chewed slowly. The brunette had planned on giving America the silent treatment, but the Superpower had ways around that.

"Hey, Romano, have you ever been to an amusement park?"

The half-nation recalled his last trip to Disneyworld with his idiot brother and decided not to comment.

"Because they opened up a new place near Farmingdale a few months back and I thought it would be fun to go together!"

"You haven't been there?" Romano asked, between delicious Nutella bites.

"Nope!" the other man grinned. "I had been waiting to go with somebody, but everyone was always busy or lame!"

"So, I'm your back-up plan?"

"Are you kidding? I would've asked you _first_ if I knew how awesome it was to hang out with you sooner!"

"R-Really?" he blinked. Normally, people complained about his company.

"Heck, yes!" America grabbed his wrist and started dragging him to the door. "So, c'mon! It's gonna be lots of fun!"

"O-Okay…but I still think amusement parks are stupid!"

"Ahahahaha!"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>One thirty minute car ride later, they pulled into a large parking lot and stepped out of the Batmobile. Romano was a little reluctant to leave the precious Lamborghini out in the open where idiots and savages could potentially dent or crash into it, but America assured him it would all be okay. They parked in a public lot and if worse came to worse; there was a security camera right above them to assist them in catching potential criminals.<p>

The duo made their way over to the ticket stand. Behind the fence, the amusement park seemed to grow, roller coasters and castle spires reaching towards the sky, colorful flags flapping in the breeze, and a ferris wheel spinning in the distance. America nudged his friend's shoulder.

"Are you excited, 'Mano?"

"Y-Yeah…" came his reply. Truthfully, he was a little nervous. This place was bigger than he imagined, but at least Vene wasn't there to scream and hide behind him every time a mouse mascot walked past. Trying to explain to others that his brother still had some unresolved issues with the Black Plague (and the rats who spread it) was a little confusing in this day and age.

The wait in line was blissfully short and in no time, the guys had shiny silver wristbands that got them an all-access pass to any area of the park. America was practically bouncing around, trying to decide what to go on first. Unfortunately, the area just past the ticket stand was incredibly crowded and difficult to navigate. People were pushing and shoving to stay with their groups, causing Romano to lose sight of the American idiot. He looked around frantically, but didn't see that familiar face with the dorky smile and wild hair.

"Oh, shit…"

Meanwhile, America continued skipping along, rambling on about all the cool rides they'd have to try out. He thought for sure that South Italy was right behind him and not caught up in a current of people pulling him the opposite direction. It wasn't until he turned around to get Romano's opinion on caramel apples that he realized his friend was gone.

"…Romano?"

America scanned the crowd, but didn't see the brunette. Quickly, he reached into his pocket to pull out his cellphone and call his buddy. He nervously shifted on the balls of his feet each time it rang. Finally, it went to voicemail and America ended the call. Maybe Romano hadn't heard his phone over the loud music playing in this area?

"Dammit, dammit, dammit…" South Italy cursed under his breath.

He had placed his hand into his back pocket to grab his phone, only to find it wasn't there. The stupid thing must have fallen out in the car. While he did have a wristband that could get him in and out of the park for the day, he really didn't feel like braving the river of people separating him from the entrance of the park. Romano wandered around a little, unsure of what to do. Everything here was too damned huge to give him a good view of the crowd.

_Maybe if I can get to higher ground, I could spot the hamburger bastard_…

South Italy noticed some large decorative rocks off to the side of the walkway. Ignoring the sign that said KEEP OFF (he could always pretend he didn't understand English if security swung by), the brunette climbed to the top and glanced around for the American.

The Hero quickly ran through the crowd, searching for his lost Italian. For once, he was completely focused – the mouth-watering aroma of funnel cake and popcorn not even registering in his mind. He felt terrible for losing the brunette not five minutes into the amusement park. People moved in all directions around him, but no sign of Romano.

On top of his rock perch, South Italy was beginning to lose hope. Who knows how long it would take that hamburger bastard to realize he was missing? He could be trapped here for hours…days…maybe even years… What would happen to him? Would the amusement park people kidnap him and hold him against his will? What if they tried to forcefeed him disgusting carnival food? He would _die_. He would die and Veneziano would be all alone in the world. The nasty potato bastard would move in with him and then they'd rip out all of his precious tomato plants and replace them with potatoes! How awful! Now Romano felt bad (just a little) that his last words to his brother were 'go to hell.' That's how Vene would remember him. The terrible big brother who told him to go to hell…

"Romano!" a familiar voice called out, happily.

"E-Eh?" the Italian suddenly felt a pair a strong arms wrap around his waist and hoist him off the giant rock.

"Thank god I found you!" America exclaimed, spinning the brunette around a few times before setting him on the ground. "Where'd you go? I thought I lost you!"

"W-Where'd _I_ go?" South Italy repeated, his temper slowly rising. "_You_ were the one who got lost! I was trying to follow you, but you kept running off and leaving me in the middle of all this chaos!"

"Aw, I'm real sorry about that, darlin', think you can forgive me?"

"Don't think your stupid accent is going to save you this time!"

"Okay, how about this – I know a way to avoid losing you again."

"How?"

"Like this!" America swiftly took his hand and squeezed it happily. Both felt their cheeks warm up a bit. "This will keep us together! And even if it doesn't, I'll always come find you, I promise."

"This is dumb, but I guess it's better than getting lost in a forest of huge Americans again…"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>To temporarily get away from the mobs of people, the boys decided to visit the movie theater. The brightly-lit building was featuring several short films in 3-D. There was a wide variety of genres to accommodate all of the visitors. Not many had lined up, so the Nations got in right away. 3-D glasses in hand, they made their way down the hallway and into Theater 4, as directed by a theater attendant.<p>

It wouldn't be until three groups later that the attendant realized he had mixed up the room numbers.

"Wait a second, _Carnival of the Dead?_" America read the movie screen in disbelief once it started playing. "That doesn't sound like a family-friendly comedy about talking ferrets…"

"Eh, who cares? We're already sitting down, we may as well watch it." Romano shrugged, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. American horror films had nothing on the scary shit his country made.

America weakly nodded and prayed it would all be over soon. Or who knows, be more funny than scary. Carnivals were supposed to be fun, happy places. It's not like people could turn a fun, happy place into a terrifying, nightmare-inducing movie.

…How very wrong he was.

Carnival of the dead opened up with an innocent setting in a peaceful town during the Carnival season. Little did the quiet, little town realize that a psychotic serial killer escaped a nearby asylum and was headed their way. The first 15 minutes of the movie featured him killing everyone at the Carnival in a twisted, sadistic manner. Romano, being no stranger to excessive gore and entrails from Italian horror movies was almost bored by it. After everyone was dead, the serial killer fell off the ferris wheel, killing himself in the process. Several years later, the main protagonist's group came to explore the abandoned Carnival and encounter the vengeful spirits of everyone who had died there. America was terrified, but tried to not let it show. When the innocent kid from the opening showed up again and morphed into an evil ghost capable of ripping off both legs from one of the teenagers, America needed back-up. He grabbed Romano's hand tightly and refused to let go.

Meanwhile, Romano couldn't figure out why America was being so forward. He felt his face heat up and became too embarrassed to look at the blonde Superpower. Was the dork trying to play Hero again to make sure he wasn't scared? That was almost…sweet. Sure, this movie was fairly tame in Romano's eyes, but he wasn't expecting America to worry about him like this. It got South Italy thinking that the blonde could be very considerate and thoughtful when he wanted to be…

This worked well for America, who was about to pass out from fear.

Suddenly, two men in fancy black suits and designer shades showed up in the back of the theater. They were in full-on spy-mode, tracking their oblivious targets. Naturally, the rest of the world wasn't so oblivious, and their escapades attracted the attention of everyone else. The crowd assumed the two good-looking guys in suits were part of a show or something.

"Ah, just look at them…l'amour!"

"America looks as though he's about to faint…" the shorter man readjusted his sunglasses.

"…L'amour!"

By the time the movie was over and it was time to leave the theater, America was still holding Romano's hand to help himself recover from the whole experience. He silently whined to himself how he just knew he was gonna have nightmares for the next decade. Nightmares…and an irrational fear of fishbowl toss game stands.

"That wasn't so bad, was it, bastard?" South Italy asked.

"W-What? N-Nope. Not at all. Ahahaha…haha…"

The spy duo quickly dove to the side of the dark room to avoid detection. The only ones who didn't seem to notice them were Romano and America, as they were caught up in their own conversation.

Things improved for the blonde Superpower once they got back outside. He was able to relax considerably after convincing himself there were no escaped serial killers out there today and that none of the amusement park workers were demonic spirits out for blood. A pair of kids walked past them with animal-ear headbands. One was a bunny and the other was a cat.

"Heh…that's actually kind of cute," South Italy smiled a little.

That was all America needed to drag him off in the direction of the stand selling animal headbands.

"W-Where the hell are we going?!" the brunette shouted.

"To score some cute headbands!"

"What?!" Romano blushed. "I meant it was cute on a child! It would look weird as hell on an adult!"

"I don't think so at all!" America led the way to the stand and rested a set of brown cat ears on Romano's head. "See? You look so cute!"

"Bastardo!" Romano shook them off. "Stop being so—"

"Hey, Romano, look! I'm a bear!" the blonde mock-roared at him, 'claws' extended menacingly.

"More like a puppy, since you're so hyper…" the tsundere placed a tan set of floppy dog ears on America's head.

"Hmm…" the Hero admired his new ears in one of the mirrors. "They _do_ go with my eyes pretty well…"

South Italy couldn't help but snicker. He tried to cover it up, but that just made him laugh more. While he was distracted, the Superpower purchased both sets of animal-ear headbands. Placing the brown cat ears back on Romano's head caused him to look up in disbelief.

"There's no way I'm wearing this!"

"Oh, c'mon! I'm wearing mine, see?" America wiggled his dog ears with his hands. "So, you gotta wear yours. Just for a little while…"

"This is such crap…"

"What's there to worry about, it's not like you know anyone here, right?" the blonde beamed. "You've got nothing to lose!"

"How about my pride?"

"Then I use my mighty power of the bet to command you to wear your super-cute cat ears for at least an hour!"

"You're such an ass…"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>The cat and dog duo made their way along the main drag of the amusement park. Romano was looking for any kind of ride that involved darkness and not being seen in his ridiculous headband. His eyes lit up when he saw the boat tour attraction.<p>

"Hey, bastard. Look," he tugged on his sleeve. "That looks kind of cool."

Based solely on that, America got them in line without looking at the details. He would never make that mistake again. If he had taken the time to read the sign next to the line, he wouldn't have missed the fact that the boat tour had recently been renovated to be a spooky theme.

The only thing America thought was strange was the nagging feeling they were being watched.

They were only waiting in line for a few minutes before being ushered into a long boat in a dark room. America would later recall thinking the poor visibility was odd, but didn't let it bother him. Not even the spooky, stormy music made him bat an eyelash. It was the seemingly innocent tour guide turned nutjob that got to him. She commenced the boat tour scaring the crap out of him.

"Welcome, travelers!" she grinned wildly. "Please take care stepping into the boat, secure your seatbelts, and kiss your loved ones goodbye!"

"Wait, what's she just say?" America began to sweat.

"I dunno…something about seatbelts," South Italy responded absently. "Why does a boat ride have seatbelts anyway?"

"It is said that this river has been called the 'taboo land' a place where those who enter…never return!" she said in a foreboding tone. "It's time to put that to the test…"

"Can we not and say we did?" America whimpered.

"What's gotten into you?" Romano asked, readjusting his seatbelt. The blonde was acting strange, even by his standards.

"N-Nothing…" America responded weakly, doing his best to ignore all the spirits from the netherworld circling above them. The boat ride lurched to life and it was too late to turn back.

"Hold on…" the brunette eyed him closely. "Are you…scared?"

The Hero tried to talk his way out of it, but found himself grabbing for Romano's hand the second one of the spooky specters flew beside him. South Italy couldn't help but laugh. Here he had always thought that the seemingly-invincible idiot wasn't afraid of anything.

"I-I'm sorry, b-but ghosts and crap have freaked me out since I was a little kid," he admitted to the half-nation. He hoped he wasn't ruining the ride for him. "Y-You're not mad or anything, are you?"

"Far from it…" South Italy smirked. "I'm going to _enjoy_ this."

"You didn't get possessed by one of those creepy ghosts did you?" America tried to make sense of his friend's descent into darkness. "Why are you so evil all of the sudden?"

"You started it with these dumb headbands…"

America sighed. Karma was a bitch.

"What could lurk inside?" the guide asked her passengers. "Phantoms from another dimension? Dark things haunting the passageways? An ancient demon? It's time to find out for ourselves…"

Unfortunately for America, the answer to her question ended up being 'all of the above.' First they were assaulted by a hoard of lost spirits in search of fresh, warm bodies. The Superpower actually screamed when one with a half-decaying face reached out for him, causing America to latch himself onto the laughing Italian. After narrowly escaping with their lives, they entered the second room, filled with fake bats screeching and flying in every direction. The bats flew right through the passenger section of the boat, like a leather-winged cloud of noise-makers. Neither Nation had been fond of that part. The third room featured a projected image of what could only be described as Satan's stoned, cross-dressing brother. The creepy confines of the cavern were made that much worse by an overactive smoke machine. Romano figured they'd all choke to death before any of the employees could scare them. Finally, they made it to a secret passageway.

"It's time to navigate these hidden jet-black waters together!" the guide cackled. "We'll either return with stories to tell or join the ghost ships at the bottom of the sea!"

Even Romano started feeling a little bad for America at this point. The poor guy was practically shaking from fear of whatever dwelled inside the next section. Romano took it upon himself to point out a few continuity errors, such as their guide calling the glorified moat they were sailing on 'a river' and then 'the sea.' It seemed to help a little. Romano knew that for sure because America's grip on his hand loosened ever so slightly. He could now almost feel blood circulating through his fingers again.

"Hang in there, it's almost over, bastard."

America nodded. He didn't like the way the shadows were moving under the artificial moonlight, but if Romano was sure about it, then it was good enough for him.

"They say a Witch haunts our final destination…" The boat guide warned them in a hushed tone. "For many centuries, she haunted this land as her own. They say she wakes up this time of year to spread despair and curses to anyone unfortunate to cross her. Do you feel that chill in the air? Is it just the wind or the breath of the Witch awakening from her slumber...?"

"But we'll be safe, won't we?" asked a blonde girl with pigtails, sitting near the guide.

"Depends on how well you think you can handle this," the guide responded, tossing a large rifle to the blonde girl.

"Did she just hand her a gun?" America blinked. Why didn't he get a gun? He was way more afraid than that girl was.

"It's fake, idiota…" Romano rolled his eyes.

Any further chatter was cut off by a loud wailing sound. A large, serpentine body slithered out from the waters and scaled the cavern walls.

"Holy crap, it's the Witch!" America held Romano tighter. "The Witch is here!"

As if responding to his statement, the girl with the gun started firing it at the Witch. Romano could tell right away it was some action movie prop. Still, the Witch seemed to be effected by the lightshow and fake bullets. It collapsed on the shoreline and didn't move for several moments.

"I did it!" the blonde girl beamed, lowering her gun.

"She did it!" the Superpower cheered, joined in by a few others.

At that point, the "Witch" jerked back to life and flew towards the boat, opening its jaws over the gunner's head. The lights flickered on and off until what appeared to be the girl's headless body toppled overboard. Distracted by its meal, the Witch followed it back into the dark depths of the water with a final roar of victory.

"OH MY GOD, IT ATE HER HEAD!" America shrieked, squeezing his friend for dear life. "IT ATE HER _HEAD_ ROMANO! NOW IT WANTS TO EAT US TOO!"

Romano sighed. If he didn't go deaf first, he was going to let the ride's manager have a piece of his mind the second they were back on solid ground.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>After such a horrifying experience, ice cream was in order. America grabbed South Italy's hand once more, and led him to a little stand he saw earlier. He felt much better now that they were back out in the sun and able to move around freely. The more distance he put between them and the boat ride from hell, the happier he felt. Now there was just one other problem to deal with…<p>

"Hey, 'Mano, let's take the scenic route!"

"Okay…?"

America led them down a winding path of dancing balloon animals, dart throwing games, and ring tosses. By the time they made it to the ice cream stand, both were warm enough to order an extra scoop to help cool off. Napkin-wrapped waffle cones in hand, the Nations walked over to the large fountain area to eat. After a few bites, America excused himself to use the bathroom, asking his friend to wait for him here.

"Yeah, like I'd actually _want_ to wander around this maze…" Romano waved him off. "Don't take too long, bastard."

America headed over in the general direction of the restrooms, taking a pit stop near some shrubbery. He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.

"You can come out now."

The shrub didn't respond.

"I know you're hiding there and you're doing a crappy job of it."

Again, he was met with silence from the suspicious foliage. The blonde took a deep breath and started shouting at the shrub next.

"Soccer, cookies, ass, elevator, 'color' without the 'u,' sweater, sneakers, TV, subway, learned, and American wine brands are better than anything European!"

"You little brat!" England burst out of the shrub. "Stop slandering the Queen's English or I'll—"

"How dare you insult my—" France wasn't far behind him.

America just crossed his arms again and gave them a look.

"O-Oh, why hello there, Amérique! How are you?"

"Drop the act and spill why you're here."

"I didn't want to come, but the bloody frog here _insisted_ that—"

"Ohonhonhon!" France elbowed the Briton. "Is it so wrong to check in on our darling child?"

"That's bloody right!"

"I haven't been your 'darling child' in over two hundred years now," America replied bluntly before squinting at France. "Even longer for you."

"Alright, alright, mon chouchou," France tried to intervene before England had a fit. "I admit that we just wanted to see how your little date was going with Romano~! I'm so glad you took my advice and brought him here! Trés bon!"

"Geez, you guys are nosy," America rolled his eyes.

"Is that why you came alone? You didn't want us to talk to Romano?" the long-haired blonde wagged his eyebrows.

"Oh, no. I was doing you two a _favor_," he smiled fondly. "Romano never hesitates when it comes to putting other people in their place."

"_There's_ a fine trait to have," England rolled his eyes.

"You're one to talk," retorted the former colony. "Why don't you guys just leave already?"

"Ehehe…We will, we will, but that wasn't the only reason we came to see you…"

"Please don't try to give me 'The Talk' again…" America groaned. "Iggy already took care of that once and it was embarrassing enough for both of us."

"H-Hey! Little ingrate…I didn't have to try to help you as much as I did back then!"

"You gave me The Talk when I was like _40!_ I was practically an adult by then!" America shouted back. "Samuel freaking Adams had already explained the birds and bees to me when I was _actually_ a teenager!"

"I never did like that man…" England scratched his chin.

"Um, back to the matter of why we're here…" the Nation of Love waved his hand to get their attention again.

"Spill it and get lost."

"We came to warn you about something…" France winced.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Back by the fountain, Romano was happily eating his ice cream. It wasn't as good as gelato, but it was still damned tasty. He'd have to make sure to get more before they left the park.<p>

"Drop your ice cream…" an eerie, disembodied voice suddenly spoke up.

Romano was a little freaked out, but more confused about the ice cream request. Was this some kind of prank? He slowly inched away from the light post he stood under, scanning the crowd for the source of the voice.

"I said, drop your ice cream…" the voice repeated impatiently.

South Italy tried to act brave, casually taking another bite of his snack, but the voice was very persistent and anti-ice cream.

"This is your _last chance_…"

"What are you going to do? Scold me to death?" Romano scoffed, feeling more confident (or at least as confident as a man eating ice cream with a cat-ear head band could pull off).

"Look at your little boyfriend and see…"

Romano huffed, but looked over in the direction America had walked off previously. The blonde was making his way back. When he caught Romano's eye, the Superpower started jogging over, careful not to spill his remaining ice cream. He seemed relieved about something. The Italian relaxed for a second, then felt his heart stop. He wasn't sure how he missed it before, but as America approached, Romano could see a laser reticule on his oblivious friend's chest.

"Drop the ice cream or you can say goodbye to your precious blondie..."

"No!" Romano shouted, throwing his cone in the direction of the disembodied voice. He instinctively leapt in front of America, shielding him from the path of the bullet. His headband clattered against the the paved bricks.

A ruckus was raised from the bushes and a scream echoed across the fountain area. Everyone in the area froze. Romano suddenly felt his knees wobble and stumbled to the ground. At the last second, America managed to catch him and guide his unsteady friend to the pavement slowly.

"Romano, are you alright?!"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>AN – Dun, dun, dunnnnnn!

Wow, this fic has become a dumping grounds for my headcanons! XD

And when America said he was around 40 when England gave him The Talk, he was referring to his age starting after he declared Independence in 1776, not when settlers started arriving in the 1600s. Sorry if that was a little confusing.

-Rajikka

**Translations**

**Fratello** – Brother (It.)

**Tsundere** – A type of character seen in anime or manga known for appearing cold or hostile, but having a hidden sweet side. "Tsun Tsun" is the aloof or irritable side, while "Dere Dere" is the lovey dovey side. (Jp.)

**Idiota** – Idiot (It.)

**L'Amour** – Love (Fr.)

**Mon chouchou** – My favorite blue-eyed boy/girl (Fr.)

**Trés bon** – Very good (Fr.)


	5. King of Diamonds

_Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it _

_Warning: strong language, boy x boy pairings_

Sorry about scaring you all with that cliffhanger. It'll resolve itself fairly quickly.

Congrats to everyone who caught the clue in last chapter's title! For anyone confused, each chapter was named after a Hetalia Cardverse character. King of Spades = America, Ace of Hearts = Romano (this one's more fanon, than canon), Jack of Hearts = Veneziano, Queen of Clubs = Hungary, and King of Diamonds = France. This fic has nothing to do with the Cardverse AU, I just thought it would be fun to use a Cardverse naming theme, since this all started with a card game…

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't often that Hungary screamed. In recent times, that was typically reserved for catching her favorite couples together (although that was more of a squeal) and promising pain for Prussia (and that was more of a shout). However, when she was unexpectedly hit square in the face with an ice cream cone, she couldn't help but cry out. Sure, she had wanted South Italy to drop it, but not on <em>her!<em> Even worse than catching freezing cold desserts with her face was dropping her camera equipment, causing a loud crash in the fountain area.

Romano had assumed that was the gunshot and his body reacted accordingly, shielding America. Once the threat was gone, all of the strength left his legs and the brunette toppled over. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't mad. America barely had time to catch him and get a question in before the Italian exploded.

"Romano, are you alright?!"

"W…What the hell was that?!" he sat up a little, pointing an angry finger at the fangirl. "Are you fucking _insane?!_"

America's overly-attached parents were already interrogating Hungary.

"I'm sorry," she faked innocent, wiping chocolate ice cream from her face. "I just really wanted him to drop his ice cream…"

"Why did you want him to drop it in the first place?" England asked, completely baffled.

"Well, since you asked, it was because if he dropped his then America would have to share his own, just like in _Doki Doki_—"

"—Forget I asked," the Island Nation held up a hand.

Meanwhile, America had managed to get Romano to calm down a little by rubbing his back. He still didn't know what was going on, but he had to make sure his friend was okay before he got some answers from Hungary. The Italian also realized he wouldn't get anything out of the crazy chick if he all he did was shout at her. If anything, that would make _him_ look like the crazy one. It would be adding insult to injury to be considered more insane than Hungary. That woman made Russia look like a sane, well-adjusted member of society.

"So, where's your gun, Hungary?" he asked in a cold tone.

The others were surprised by this, turning to the long-haired brunette. Did she really bring in something so dangerous to such a crowded place? That was a little extreme, even for her.

"Heh…I didn't actually have a gun," she admitted, taking out a laser pointer from her pocket.

"Why are you such a crazy psychopath?!" he started yelling again. His face had turned bright red from leaping to conclusions. It was only a matter of time before the other Nations put two and two together.

"You thought…she had a gun?" America asked him.

"Sh-Shut up! It looked a lot like a reticule from a distance, bastard!"

"You thought there was a gun aimed at me and you jumped in the way?" America was astounded by that.

"What _else_ was I supposed to do?" Romano snapped. "Let you get shot?!"

"So, that makes it okay for _you_ to get shot?!" the blonde exclaimed. "Did you even _think_ about what would happen if you were shot?! Nation or not, you could have been seriously hurt!"

"Oh, fine. Next time somebody wants to open fire on your oblivious ass, I'll do the honorable thing and _let you get shot!_"

As the two squabbled about the technicalities of South Italy's heroic actions, Hungary snuck off. Mesmerized with the argument playing out in front of them, France and England completely missed her exit too. France had been trying to figure out a way to stop the shouting. England had been secretly excited to see someone else put America in his place. Finally, the wavy-haired blonde broke up the fighting.

"Stop it, both of you!" France got into the middle of things. "It's over and she already ran away!"

"Like your army…" his stubborn son grumbled.

"Wait, why are your parents here?" Romano asked, noticing the others for the first time.

"Never mind that," America pointed at them. "_You_ guys brought Hungary here, so _you_ track her down and take her home!"

"But—"

"No buts! This was your fault, so you gotta deal with it."

"We understand," France covered England's mouth with his hand.

"Good!" the Superpower turned his attention to Romano. "And you!"

"What?!" the brunette startled a bit as America shoved the cat-ear headband back on his head, grabbed his hand, and led him away from the fountain.

"Let's go get more ice cream!"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>The Nations passed a bottle pyramid tossing game shortly after another round of delicious ice cream. One of the prizes was a large ferret plush doll that matched even the half-nation in height with its tail fully extended. It was just as fluffy as a real ferret…so fluffy that America was convinced he might die. Romano had tried to explain that was impossible, but it fell on deaf ears. America's logic was that if it was cute enough, it didn't have to make sense. He declared that he would win the giant squee-worthy plushie, no matter what.<p>

"Are you sure about this, bastard?"

"Like the owner said, all I have to do is knock all the bottles over to win a prize…" America made a show of stretching out his arm. "It's a Game of Skill!"

"Game of Skill, my ass. These sort of things are usually rigged somehow."

"How could this be rigged?"

"Well, look at where they're standing," Romano pointed out a heavy black curtain. "That probably keeps them from falling over as easily…"

The owner quickly popped over and feigned innocent. He couldn't allow other potential customers to hear this. The balding man figured it wasn't 'rigged' as the cocky little college-boy was claiming. It was just…stacking the deck in his favor. Sure, the curtain helped, but the real…adjustments were the bottom bottles of the pyramid. They were filled with lead, making each one about 10 pounds. The third 'innocent trick' the owner used was giving out balls filled with cork, which made them lighter.

America had wanted to give the owner the benefit of the doubt, but knew he'd been had the second the softball was placed in his hand. The weight of the ball proved it. He decided it was his duty as the Hero to make this right by winning the giant ferret and showing the man the error of his ways. America winded up with a small step to the left, pivoted in, brought his other leg up and let the softball rip. It crashed _through_ the table the bottles were resting on, causing an explosion of glass, flying chunks of table, and softballs to rain inside the stand…needless to say, the milk bottles were knocked over. Being the nice guy he was, the Superpower made sure no one was hurt…just the owner's pride.

"Did you learn your lesson?" America asked him.

The frazzled man said yes and gave each Nation a giant stuffed animal as an apology. America seemed happy with his good deed, so Romano didn't point out the lesson that the man learned was 'bribery.'

The Superpower was indeed pleased with his grumpy-looking prize. He held it up to Romano's unamused face and laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You guys have the same face!"

"Che minchia…"

"Look, it even has a loose thread by its right ear! Just like your hair curl, Roma—"

"_Don't_ touch the hair curl," South Italy quickly grabbed the blonde's hand before mistakes were made. "And I do _not_ have the same face as some stupid stuffed animal!"

"Aww, but it's a _cute_ grumpy face!" America insisted. "Like the one you had on this morning when I carried you out of bed…"

Suddenly, a loud squeal could be heard from a nearby balloon stand. Several popped revealing Hungary, who managed to duck and escape before the other Nations caught sight of where she ran off to. America shuddered. He'd been in _wars_ less nerve-wracking than being tracked like this…

"Whaddaya say we keep moving, 'Mano?"

"Y-Yeah…Good idea."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>America had offered to brave the crowded carnival gates to drop their giant stuffed ferrets off. While shoving them into the backseat (the critters were <em>huge<em>), he grabbed Romano's cellphone out of the Batmobile. He jogged back to the entrance and was temporarily stunned at what he found —Romano was surrounded by group of pretty girls, entranced by his sexy Italian accent.

_Romano's only one of the coolest Nations ever_… America tried to laugh it off. _It's no surprise he's good with the ladies!_

Still, a small part of him felt a little…prickly. Like his insides were twisted around a roll of barbed wire and pulled taut. He didn't want to interrupt, but this was supposed to be _his_ day to hang out with South Italy. If the group of girls really liked him that much, they could spend time with him another day. America strolled over, giving Romano a hug in greeting.

"How's it going?" he waved to the girls, but didn't release Romano.

The tan girl with chestnut brown hair pinned up by a carnation flower glared at him. The elegant girl with a long skirt winked back at him. The grinning girl with wild silver hair and combat boots seemed interested in the prospect of hanging out with not one, but _two_ hot guys.

"Geez, I can't leave you alone for two minutes, can I?" America smirked.

"It's a gift…" Romano replied smoothly. "I can't help but find the most beautiful women of the world."

The gorgeous girls seemed especially pleased by this.

"Well, I'd hate to pull you away Romano, but you have like 50 missed calls from your brother to deal with," he handed his friend the phone.

"Great…" the Italian sighed, looking over the messages. Vene had gone from believing Romano to be 'so busy, he didn't have a chance to call' to 'potentially kidnapped like in that one movie Prussia borrowed from the polar bear guy last week and oh, my god fratello, don't become a drugged-up victim of human trafficking.' He gave the girls an apologetic look. "Sorry, but I have to take this. It was wonderful meeting you ladies."

"Call me if you get bored, sweetie," the tall, brunette girl blew Romano a kiss. America decided he didn't like her very much.

"Same goes for you, handsome," the girl in combat boots punched America in the arm playfully.

"Or better yet, _both_ of you…" the third girl offered them each a hand.

The Superpower didn't know what to do with that, so he gave her a high-five, startling the blonde beauty. Fortunately, Romano remedied the situation by kissing her hand in a gentlemanly fashion and waving them off.

"What was that about, hamburger bastard?" The half-nation asked, while texting his fratello back. _Yes_, he was busy and _no_, he wasn't addicted to heroin and halfway to the Middle East in a giant crate.

"What was what about?" America played dumb.

"Never mind," he took the American's hand. "I'm starving, jerk. Where's the nearest concession stand selling _real_ food?"

"That depends. How do you feel about funnel cake?" the Hero happily took the lead. Brightly colored stalls passed around them, but America knew exactly where to go. He had something of a built-in funnel cake radar.

They proceeded to go get some at a nearby stand. America explained to the older woman running the stand how Romano had never had funnel cake before. The lady said that wouldn't do and gave him an extra helping of the deep-fried dough sprinkled with powder sugar.

"Hmm…" the half-nation chewed carefully, as if deliberating. It tasted kind of like churros. A little greasy for his taste, but not bad overall. "…Generally, I like it."

America and the funnel cake woman cheered.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>America had long-since considered himself to be a great driver. A little reckless, maybe, but glorious things always happened whenever he got behind the wheel of anything that moved. Batmobiles, aircrafts, speedboats, racecars, school buses…anything. He honestly didn't think bumper cars would be any different. It wasn't like he'd never ridden in them before. The Superpower had plenty of experience with the electric-powered cars. Despite his tall stature, he always did really well crashing into others and avoiding getting hit himself.<p>

Which is why his mind was completely blown the _ninth_ time Romano hit his car so hard, the blonde nearly flew out of it. What _was_ this? Were the Gods of Bumper Cars using the Italian as their road-raging Messiah?

"Take that, hamburger jerk!" South Italy laughed wildly and zipped away before the blonde could get a word or action in edgewise.

The last time Romano had been on a ride like this was at Disneyworld with his brother. Of course, that time had been bumper _boats_, not cars. Long story short, the brunette didn't fare so well on the boats. He still blamed it on the fact that he had to share a boat with Vene, who was so terrified when one of the mouse mascots joined in on the boat battle, he actually drove them _through_ the wall. This car game was a different story. It was his chance to reclaim his honor. His chance to get more payback on America for making him wear the stupid headband for the rest of the day, just because he tried to save his stupid life from Hungary's fake gun. It also helped that the car operator didn't feel the need to enforce any kind of safety rules (not that Romano was targeting anyone except the Superpower). Revenge would be his!

"Dude, this isn't Mario Kart! Take it easy!"

"Then let me take this stupid headband off!"

"_That's_ what this is about?!"

The minutes raced by and America didn't get a single hit in. Romano was too fast. Finally, after an extra hard crash into his opponent's vehicle, the brunette slowed down. Even from a distance, America could see him frustratingly hitting the wheel, but his car refused to budge. Had he knocked something loose in that last collision? It would be crazy not to take this chance! America had been waiting the entire round for it!

Sparks leapt from the top of the car cables as America charged at the helpless Italian. It was only when he got closer that he realized he'd been tricked. Romano's devious smirk returned to his face as he expertly spun the car out of the way, causing America to crash into the wall. South Italy didn't let him recover and was quick to ram into the blonde's car mercilessly.

"That wasn't fair!" America shouted. "You tricked me!"

"And _you_ tried to crash into me when you thought my car wasn't working!" Romano shot back. "Not very heroic to hit a guy when he's down!"

"That does it! It's on, now!" the Superpower shouted. South Italy's laughter only egged him on. Still, he found himself enjoying the crazy ride, even if he was losing.

Despite his best attempts at revenge, America was only able to hit the half-nation one time out of twenty or so attempts. The other riders had so much fun watching the two go at it, that they stayed out of the way to cheer on crowd favorite 'Crazy Italian Dude' and underdog 'Blonde Racecar Man.'

When the operator stopped the cars, America jumped out of his car and headed over to Romano. As he offered him a hand (the floor was a little slippery) he promised to avenge himself when they did this again.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Romano took the offered hand and hoisted himself out. "That little girl over there was a fiercer competitor than you were."

"Heck yeah, she was!" nodded the blonde. "Did you _see_ the way her teddy bear was driving? It's a miracle we're all walking out of here alive!"

Both Nations carefully made their way across the slippery floor and towards the exit sign. Back outside, they could feel Hungary's eyes on them again.

"Hey, 'Mano, riddle me this…What has the legion of hell at their command, a knack for deceiving others, and two scary glowing eyes?"

"Either the Devil or Hungary, but I'm not sure how different they are at this point."

"Bail to find cover?"

"Works for me."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>From the shadows, Hungary watched the boys foolishly try to escape her. They should know better by now. When she shipped something, <em>nothing<em> could stop her. Not distance or social norms, not God or other fangirls who disagreed with her pairings. To the fujoshi Nation, this new couple was a thing of wonder – half sugar, half spice, and all glorious possibility.

She could still recall the moment she got this juicy bit of info yesterday…

It was back in the meeting room lobby, shortly after America had gone chasing after the stormy Italian. North Italy had been heartbroken about betraying his fratello's trust like that. It was his bawling that first caught Hungary's eye. She still had a bit of maternal instincts as far as Italy went. Whenever she'd see him upset, her first reaction was usually to help him somehow.

By the time she made her way over to the group, Germany had carted him away. Hungary was about to stealthily follow them for different reasons than her initial worries about Veneziano. However, she saw the Bad Touch Trio acting strange…well, _stranger_ for them. They had gathered at the hotel bar, but the overall mood of the trio was mixed.

France was enthusiastically drinking a celebratory glass of wine. Prussia was somewhere between happy and drunk off his ass from doing shot after shot with both. Then there was Spain…oh, Spain. The Latin Nation had on a yandere face so terrifying, it looked like it belonged on Russia. Actually, this face could probably _scare_ Russia. The Spaniard was alternating between tequila shots and furiously sharpening his battleaxe.

Now, most people would probably look at this scene and be utterly confused. Still more people would look away and carry on with whatever they were doing before seeing the BTT. Not Hungary. Hungary was a _hunter_. She could find clues in body language that even the individuals themselves missed.

France was happy. He was toasting to love and bragging about his fabulous genetics. This meant that something good happened to Canada and/or America. Something big enough to make France proud enough to try to take the credit for it. That narrowed it down to romance, charm, wine, and fashion.

Next was Prussia, who was equally happy for France and empathetic enough for Spain. Since he wasn't bragging, whatever caused them to gather at the bar had to do with America, not Canada.

Which brought her to Spain. Holy shit, Spain. He was _furious_. This was more than a simple disagreement, this was personal. The rare times Spain got upset like this was over something happening to Belgium or Romano. When it had to do with Belgium, Spain was more of a fist-fight kind of guy. When it had to do with Romano, he busted out the battleaxe.

Hungary's lips formed a smile as she strolled over.

"Hi, guys," her smile grew broader. "What's going on with America and Romano?"

The Bad Touch Trio was speechless. They looked at each other, then back at her.

"How in the hell do you _do_ that?" Prussia asked.

"Professional fangirl," she replied, sitting at the bar, and ordering herself a drink. "Now spill."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>France felt bad about blabbing the bet results to Hungary the other day. As much as he'd like to blame it on the wine or his friends' loose lips, a share of the fault fell with him too. Hungary had greedily devoured all the information they gave her. She was now stalking his son-of-sorts, which could potentially ruin Amérique's first date in forever. It had taken the boy this long to get a decent date, who knows how long it would take if things didn't work out? That bet had been a stroke of luck that only comes around once in a lifetime.<p>

Finding an attractive, feisty Nation with culinary skills to boot was a perfect match for America. True, Romano had a stubborn, thorny personality, but America was raised by _England_. To say he had some experience with what Japan described as 'tsundere' was an understatement if there ever was one.

Maybe, just maybe, the two would hit it off and become an official couple. Then they would get married and France would have an excuse to buy those expensive designer shoes he'd been eyeing for awhile…And the wedding! He could cater the entire thing and show off his gourmet title on his little boy's big day. There was no way in hell they were letting Angleterre near the kitchen… he could be in charge of adding stamps to all the invitations or something.

"…France?"

The Nation of Love didn't hear his spy partner. He was too busy planning out America and Romano's honeymoon. Paris was lovely any time of year. He could get them into any hotel of their choosing. Both would surely ask him for recommendations, since he did such an outstanding job giving America dating advice.

"What are you thinking about, wanker?" England shook France's shoulder, snapping him out of his daydream.

"Whatever do you mean, mon lapin?"

"You have that _look_ in your eye again…" the busy-browed man narrowed his own eyes.

"What look?" France feigned innocence.

"The one you get when you try to plan someone's life out for them…"

"I believe that's _your_ area of expertise, Angleterre."

"Sod off. I know you're planning something."

"Well, I admit I was thinking that we needed to make amends for bringing this situation on our dear boy…"

"I assume you're referring to the situation that _you_ brought on him," the Briton crossed his arms.

"I would need your help in this instance," France responded smoothly.

"Are you actually admitting you need _my_ help with something, frogface?"

France merely smiled and laced his fingers with England's, pulling him over to Hungary's line of vision. He decided the best way to make amends was to distract Hungary by kissing England. That should give America and Romano a chance to escape her. Sure enough, the instant their lips met, Hungary zoomed in on them (after staunching her nosebleed with some handy tissues).

America's thoughts were torn between gratitude and 'Eww, gross! My parents are _kissing!_' Even Romano begrudgingly admitted his respect for France was raised a notch…so it's now at 'practically nonexistent' instead of 'extinct.' The two dashed away before Hungary realized what was happening.

"Where are we going, bastard?" South Italy shouted.

"You'll see!"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>AN – One more chapter to go!

Haha, jealous!America shows up again! Not that I can blame him. He's gotta defend his hot piece of Italian ass, after all. You can probably figure out who those three girls were based off…

-Rajikka

**Translations**

**Fratello** – Brother (It.)

**Tsundere** – A type of character seen in anime or manga known for appearing cold or hostile, but having a hidden sweet side. "Tsun Tsun" is the aloof or irritable side, while "Dere Dere" is the lovey dovey side. (Jp.)

**Che minchia** – Another way of saying "What the fuck" more commonly used in (you guessed it) South Italy (It.)

**Idiota** – Idiot (It.)

**Fujoshi** – "Rotten Girl" A fan, often female, who enjoys manga/anime/video game/etc series featuring romantic relationships between men. The term itself is a pun on the Japanese term for "respectable woman" which is also "fujoshi." They sound alike, but are written differently, depending on which Japanese character for "fu" that you use. (Jp.)

**Yandere** – A type of character seen in anime or manga know for appearing cute and innocent on the surface, hiding a controlling, obsessive, and/or straight-up insane nature. Yandere characters are usually crazy about someone else. Literally. "Yan" is short for "yanderu" which means to be sick and "dere" is short for "dere dere" which is to be lovey dovey. Russia is a good Hetalia example, but Belarus is a better one. (Jp.)


	6. Winning Hand

_Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it _

_Warning: strong language, boy x boy pairings_

Here's the final chapter!

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Before he knew what was happening, Romano found himself next to America, in line for the large Ferris wheel. Somehow they had managed to leave Hungary in the dust. They were safe for the moment, at least. The sun was beginning to set, so all of the lights were starting to turn on throughout the park. It was like watching giant fireflies flickering to life. The line slowly drifted to the front and the Nations stepped into the brightly-lit cabin.<p>

"It's really fun to rock these things," America informed his friend with a grin, shifting his weight back and forth inside the small compartment after they were high enough to escape the operator yelling at them.

"It's also really fun to sit your ass down before you break something," Romano replied. He was not a fan of the sound the rusty gears holding this flimsy deathwheel together were making.

"It'll be _fine_, I've done this a million times on other Ferris wheels!" the Superpower insisted.

"Fine, while you do that, I'll give you a detailed summary of every ghost movie I've ever seen, starting with the one you finally managed to repress from this morning…"

"Alright! Alright! I'll be good!" America quickly sat down next to the brunette. "Hey, next meeting we have in New York, we should bring everybody here!"

"You want to bring a bunch of Nations, who can't even agree on a policy for who goes first in the buffet line, to an amusement park?"

"Sure! We're having a great time, aren't we?" America grinned. "I bet the others would too!"

"Or start an international conflict…"

"C'mon, you know you want to run more than a few of them off the road on the bumper car track," the blonde smiled, knowingly. "If you can take _me_ out, Germany doesn't even stand a chance!"

"Heh, that's true bastard, but then I'd have half a dozen other idiots gunning for me."

"They wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd have your back."

Their conversation was cut short by a brief burst of fireworks. Dazzling reds, electric blues, and bright whites lit up the night sky. People below stopped to watch the display. The beautiful fireworks popped, whirred, and whistled just over the water. Many oohed and awed at the picture-perfect sight.

"Whoa! I didn't know they did _fireworks_ here!" America pressed his nose to the Plexiglas. "We must have the most awesome timing ever!"

"Y-Yeah."

At some point, Romano's hand found America's, but he pretended not to notice. The blonde didn't say anything either, merely giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Both kept their eyes transfixed on the fireworks.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Somewhere far below…<p>

"I must say, I'm impressed you thought to bring fireworks!" France complimented the long-haired brunette, as they set off more of the colorful lights.

"Oh, it's nothing, just a little gift from Taiwan…" Hungary boasted. "Every good fangirl keeps them on her person in case such a moment arises."

"The TSA must love you…" England rolled his eyes. He couldn't understand how Francis had gone from trying to get rid of Hungary, to helping her with her mad schemes.

"Oh, hush! You'll be grateful when I send you some pictures of them in the Ferris Wheel together."

"That would be wonderful, Hungary!" France clapped his hands together in approval. "Thank you!"

"How are you even going to be able to get photos if you're over here?" England asked. "You don't even know which cart they're in."

"Which is exactly why I wired cameras in every compartment~!"

"Such diligence! You really planned this all out!" Francis joined Hungary's proud laughter and lit off several more fireworks.

"You two are horrible people…" the tsundere shook his head.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Eventually, the dazzling display ended and faded into the night. The crowd of people who had gathered let out loud whoops and cheers for the show. America followed suit, he <em>loved<em> fireworks. The ground drifted closer and closer, until it was time to step off the Ferris wheel and back onto solid ground. This time, the Superpower didn't have to offer Romano his hand, as the Italian was already holding it.

The duo took a few steps away from the giant wheel, trying to decide where to go next. It was right around then some maniacal kid with a squirt gun raced by. America immediately shielded his shirt pocket with as much dedication as an umbrella in a rainstorm. He perceived himself as a hero protecting his treasure, random passerbyers thought he was having some kind of heart failure. Romano noticed this as the little boy ran off.

"What's in your pocket?"

"Huh?"

"It must be important if you're so desperate to protect it from crazy shit like that," South Italy gestured at the kid dissolving his brother's cotton candy with the squirt gun.

"Oh, it's, uh…nothing," America scratched his head, goofy smile on his face. "Just a good luck charm."

"Oh, really?" Romano arched an eyebrow. "I'm curious, now."

America felt a faint blush creep over his face as he took out the slip of paper with Romano's name on it. He offered it to the Nation for inspection.

"The hell is this?"

"It's the paper I won from North Italy at the poker game," the blonde smiled. "It's proof gaining it was part of my lucky day, so I've kept it as a good luck charm ever since."

"That's just stupid, hamburger bastard," the half-nation shook his head, returning it. "You can't get good luck from a piece of paper."

"It let me win you for the day, didn't it?"

"Th-That's—"

"Ahahaha! So, maybe it means that _you're_ my good luck charm!"

"Shut up," Romano barely hid his embarrassment with a frown. "If I was good luck, we wouldn't have run into Hungary or your overly-attached parents."

"But my baseball team won, you got to see Strawberry Fields, and we both got to eat funnel cake and watch fireworks!"

"And just before that, you had to go through a horror movie followed by a haunted tour, and I got shot by Hungary and her imaginary bullets."

"But what about that awesome kiss under the Ferris Wheel?"

"What kiss?"

America grinned and swiftly planted a quick kiss on the Italian's forehead. He took a brief second to savor the moment while Romano was temporarily stunned. Even in the dim lighting, America could see the half-nation's face turn bright red.

And then he ran like hell.

"Get back here, you bastaaaaard!"

Eventually, America was run into the ground by the slightly shorter, considerably angrier Nation. South Italy was sitting on top of him, alternating between punching and threatening him in Italian again, but America had learned how to handle this.

"You don't want to beat the hell out of me," the blonde smiled innocently, bringing his arms down when the hitting suddenly stopped.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I got us reservations at an authentic Italian restaurant for dinner."

"If it's Italian Garden, I swear to god, I will strangle you with a spaghetti noodle…"

"It's not, it's not!" America laughed despite the situation. "It's run by the Rosso family. 3rd generation Italian-Americans, really nice people, Grandma Carlotta makes a killer cannoli!"

"Fine. I'll let you live until dinner, but I'm not making any promises for what happens to you after dessert."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>America drove them into a small building with stone walls and wooden archways. The entrance was decorated with shelves of jars filled with pasta sauce and plants trailing from the ceiling woodwork. Italian paintings and prints were tastefully displayed on the walls throughout the dining area. The restaurant was casual compared to other ritzy establishments nearby, but that was so they could focus on high-quality food. Traditional Italian music softly played in the background and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the doorway as they walked in.<p>

The staff warmly greeted them in Italian, which was enough to cause Romano's brain to switch over to his native tongue and politely return the greeting. Brightening quickly, the hostess began speaking to the half-nation in Italian, leaving America out in the cold. He was limited to conversational Italian at best and at a much slower pace. The blonde decided to ask South Italy to tutor him another time.

"Oi, hamburger jerk. This beautiful, young lady wants to know what name you put in for the reservation."

"Oh, uh, Rogers. Steve Rogers."

"You are such a dork," Romano rolled his eyes at the Captain America reference, but didn't turn around fast enough to cover up his grin.

"Hey, you recognized it, so I must not be the only dork here," he crossed his arms smugly.

"I-It's not like I _willingly_ watch all those stupid superhero movies you make…" the brunette hissed at him. "They just happen to be the only movies the albino bastard brings over and I'd rather watch those than Vene and the potato bastard sucking face."

The duo was seated at a table off to the side of the restaurant, near the decorative wine rack. Their hostess quickly dragged Marco, their waiter, over to the table and introduced him. She blinked when she remembered America was still sitting there and hastily introduced her son in English, as well.

Marco took their order and left to get their drinks. As the Nations paged through the menu, a waitress popped over to their table to ask if they wanted to sample any of the wines (imported directly from Italy, of course). America was fine with his complimentary glass of water and the Italian soda Marco was bringing him, but Romano was interested in the Marsala wine.

America had hoped to ask South Italy about what he recommended as far as pasta sauces went, but never got the chance. The wine woman was still chattering away with the half-nation, even after pouring his glass of wine. America fought the urge to facepalm. Romano really was a chick magnet.

The first time he had gone here with some of his government co-workers, America thought the service was great. The staff all had a kind of warmth to them that made every customer feel like part of the family. America had gone a few other times with other people and was given the same treatment, despite not being Italian. That all changed when Romano walked through the doors. When the Rosso family found out he was also from Sicily, they didn't just welcome him to the family like other patrons, they practically _adopted_ him.

The staff was very impressed with South Italy and wanted to equally impress him with their food. Plate upon plate of delicious antipasto ranging from bruschetta to meatballs was brought to the table. South Italy enthusiastically talked about traditional Sicilian cuisine with the waiter, hostess, and her husband (who was the head chef). Currently, they were discussing the importance of importing flour, which made all the difference in the world…or something. America couldn't really follow, but judging by the large hand gestures and looks of amazement on the chef's face, Romano was doing well. The Superpower just sat back and chewed on a piece of flatbread. It was kind of like watching a foodie family reunion…but given that the Rosso family was originally from Palermo and Romano represented that half of Italy, America supposed it kind of was.

Eventually, Nonna Carlotta came over to the table to see what the fuss was about. America perked up, nearly spilling his Italian soda. If he remembered right, she was the prickly, easily offended type. The blonde had seen her throw a wooden spoon at the head of a lazy employee with unparalleled accuracy on his second trip here. Surely, she would get the others to leave long enough for him to have a decent conversation with Romano! The little old lady strode over to the table with a deep-set frown. America silently cheered.

"_Impossibile_…" she gasped, stopping short when she actually saw the Italian guest. "It's you!"

The small crowd that had formed at the table turned towards the grandmother in confusion. She pressed closer and looked Romano in the eye.

"Do you remember me?" she asked, her raspy voice filled with wonder. "We met at a Sicilian plaza over 60 years ago!"

"Uh…" Romano looked uncomfortable.

Carlotta explained that she'd lived in the States for 50 years now, but she still recognized him from the Piazzo Verdi. She had been an aspiring painter and about nine years old the day she met Romano. Carlotta had been trying to paint the Teatro Massimo with the art supplies she'd received for her birthday. Romano happened to pass by and gave her some painting tips. He helped guide her unsteady hand to make the correct strokes and stayed with her for an hour until the painting was complete.

"The young man never gave me his name, but told me he was happy to help," Carlotta recalled fondly. "You said it was one of your favorite pieces to paint."

"But I…"

"That painting has since become my most prized possession," she huffed, pointing it out, proudly displayed on the restaurant wall behind the cash register.

His ravioli and cassone abandoned, America could only bite his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. Poor Romano was clearly one of the Nations who moved around a lot to avoid running into people they left an impression on a few decades back. What were the odds of running into one here? Having given up trying to come up with some excuse, South Italy could only blush with embarrassment. The hostess took that as a sign he was uncomfortable and tried to remove her kooky mother-in-law from the table.

"Perhaps, it's time we left these gentlemen to their meal?" she spoke up.

"Yeah, there's no way this guy could be the one you knew, Nonna," Marco agreed. "He's way too young."

Carlotta remained unconvinced and swatted her grandson in the back of the head. She directed everyone's attention to another painting (her second treasure) that hung opposite the large window in front – a portrait of Romano walking through the streets of Palermo, dressed as an ordinary man with translucent angel wings glowing behind him.

"I call it _Angel in the Plaza_, because as a child, that's what I believed you were."

Her unconvinced family members admitted there was a resemblance, but he still couldn't be the same guy. Meanwhile, America wiped away the tears that were rolling down his cheeks from suppressing so much laughter and took out his phone. He got permission to take a picture of it with Romano.

"Okay, for the next one, I want to be in the picture too," America handed his phone to Marco to take the picture. "Oh, Grandma Carlotta, you should be in it too!"

The little old lady tottered over and stood on South Italy's other side, smug look on her face. America made a surprised expression, pointing to both the half-nation and the painting. Romano suddenly wished he had more wine. Marco took the picture and the blonde promised to send Carlotta a copy of the photo. She nodded appreciatively, pulling the taller man sleeve until he leaned down to her eye level.

"You make sure you show respect, young man," she warned him, wooden spoon somehow materializing in her hand. "You are dining with an _angelo_ and if I hear you are rude to him, there will be _consequences_…"

"Yes, ma'am," the blonde stood up. "I'll be real nice to the angel, here."

By now, Romano was completely red in the face with embarrassment. The family dragged Carlotta away to let the guys enjoy their meal, even offering a complimentary bottle of wine for the inconvenience. Romano happily accepted and made good use of the gift.

"Now what are you doing?" he asked after downing his current glass of wine a little faster than restaurant manners excused.

"Tweeting that photo…"

"Y-You better not be!"

"Today I ran into the _Angel of the Plaza!_ Look familiar? _#myluckyday #hescoolerinperson_" America spoke and typed at the same time.

"I hate you so much…" Romano buried his face with his hands.

"So, if we go visit Palermo one of these days, will you teach me how to paint too?"

"Shut up, bastard."

"No, I'm serious," America tucked his phone away. "I've always been more of a photographer. I wouldn't know what to do with a canvas if you gave me a box of crayons and written instructions."

"I would never give you crayons to create _real_ art with."

"So, does that mean you'll teach me?"

"No."

"Please, darlin'?" the blonde switched over to his southern accent. "Can't you make one _tiny_ exception for me?"

"Okay, fine! Just stop talking and let me enjoy my fucking cannoli!"

"Thanks, 'Mano~!"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>After an incredibly filling meal, the stuffed Nations waited around for a check that never came. America was about to wave down their waiter (or any nearby staff), but recalled from his extensive etiquette lessons from both parents over the years that doing so was rude and a sure-fire way to tick off the wait staff. He wanted to make a good impression (and God help his soul if Nonna Carlotta saw him acting out with The Angel in his presence), so he decided against it. Making their way to the front desk, they asked their cheerful hostess about the bill.<p>

"Don't worry about it, boys!" she beamed. "It's on the house."

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I _insist_," she patted their cheeks affectionately. "You both made my perpetually cranky mother-in-law happier than we've seen her in _years_. This is the least we can do!"

The two thanked her (America ducked back to the table to leave a nice tip for the generous family) and made their way back outside. Just under the restaurant sign rested the Batmobile, streetlights glistening off her sleek surface. Both Nations took their respective seats and glanced at each other.

"See? What'd I tell ya?" the blonde grinned.

"Eh?"

"You're my good luck charm!" laughed America. "And a cheap date too!"

"Wonderful," Romano rolled his eyes, sarcasm coating his words. "I've never aspired for more…"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>America was starting to feel a little sad when it was time to drive Romano back to the airport. He had even taken the long way (hoping the Italian wouldn't notice) just to get a few extra minutes with him. Street lights and brightly-lit billboards flashed past them. Slowly, the signs directed them to the JFK International Airport. America had been there so many times before, he let autopilot take over and steer them to the parking lot.<p>

"I'm going to really miss you…" South Italy said sadly, as he stepped out of the Batmobile and ran his hand over the smooth curves of the windshield. "You were the first thing I actually liked about this McDonald's-infested country…"

"R-Really?" America asked in disbelief, carefully closing his door in attempt to catch every word.

"I was talking to the car, bastardo."

"Of course you were…" the Superpower rubbed the back of his neck. "Heh, I knew that!"

They walked into the large building together. America was happy to help him out with his luggage and showed Romano where to go. For reasons he was willing to overlook, South Italy didn't mention he already knew where to go from previous trips to New York. They found themselves facing each other in the airport terminal. People were walking in all directions around them, but neither Nation moved.

"Did you have fun?" America asked.

"It might not have been completely awful…" South Italy shifted from foot to foot slightly.

"Good! I'm glad!" The superpower beamed. "I had a great time too!"

"Really, bastard?" Romano looked up at him, hope beginning to form in his eyes. "You…you really mean it?"

"Yeah! We should definitely do this again sometime!" America hugged him. "You're an awesome person to be around, South Italy!"

"Hmph. Well, of course I am, bastard," the brunette huffed. "So…"

"So…?"

"…Same time next week?"

"It's a date!"

"It's a what?!"

"I'm just kidding…" America laughed with a wink. "…Unless you want it to be."

"Don't get cocky, bastard," Romano snorted, but leaned against the blonde to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you next Friday."

"Seeya then!" the superpower waved enthusiastically.

"And America?"

"Yeah?"

Romano grabbed the blonde's shirt collar and kissed him full on the lips.

"You're buying."

* * *

><p>-End-<p>

* * *

><p>AN – I know I might have rushed things with the kiss, but I just didn't like ending it with only a kiss on the cheek. They had to kiss for real. My inner-fangirl was stirring. And besides, I've written plenty of other fics where they take their time to connect and get to know each other and blah, blah, blah…

I didn't get to include it in this fic, but the next time Romano visits America in New York, he'll find a large print of Carlotta's _Angel in the Plaza_ painting in the middle of the living room. America got a huge kick out of his reaction (followed by a huge kick to the shin).

Thank you to everyone who read through all of this random short story!

-Rajikka

**Translations**

**Fratello** – Brother (It.)

**Tsundere** – A type of character seen in anime or manga known for appearing cold or hostile, but having a hidden sweet side. "Tsun Tsun" is the aloof or irritable side, while "Dere Dere" is the lovey dovey side. (Jp.)

**Bastardo** – Bastard (It.)

**Antipasto** – Appetizer (It.)

**Impossibile** – Impossible (It.)

**Angelo** – Angel (It.)


End file.
